McIntosh,
President of Wabash College, read his "Shakespeare, the Apollo
Belvidere of English Letters."
Things gradually went from late to later, until one night they
didn't get in at all--not until after sun-up. They had succeeded
in running my Saxon off the road, sprung an axle and busted a
light and fender, in a suspiciously out-of-the-way place between
Deer's Mill and the Shades of Death. They said they got lost, and
confused going downhill. I agree on the latter. Anyway, they
hadn't crossed the state line.
Russellville opinion of the accident differed. It would. Suffice
to say, no run was attempted on the trusty old Private
Institution; the next reconnaissance by State Examiners showed
said Bank to be in its usual sound condition; and a scrutiny of
Uncle Ernest's balance sheet showed no unusual strain on his
normal account.
The scene shifts to Greencastle: Uncle Ernest was bringing his
"fair Calantha" to call on Mother and Aunt Margaret in the parlor
of the old brick, where a solid line of Paris Green fringed the
red carpet, unsullied these many months by human feet. The horse-
hair upholstered furniture stood where I last saw it five years
before. Aunt Margaret's painting masterpiece of 1884 still hung
on the west wall, showing castle, moat and drawbridge (and the
fair lady in green riding habit riding the horse down from the
castle to the drawbridge hadn't made any mileage since then).
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