It was nothing but a
cart on runners, and painted a dingy, grayish blue; it was loaded with a
dozen tin milk-cans much defaced by hard usage, each one stopped with an
enormous cork. The driver was clad in an overcoat which once had been
dark brown or black, but had worn to a greenish yellow, except where the
collar turned up around the throat, and showed the original color. His
head and most of his face were enveloped in a knit woolen comforter, and
mittens of the same make and material protected his hands. His legs were
wrapped up in a gray horse-blanket. He was whitened here and there with
snow, and snow was packed between the necks of the milk-cans. He drove
directly toward the boarding-house, and he and Bressant caught sight of
one another at the same moment.
"Hallo!" called the stranger; "you're Bressant, I guess, ain't you? I've
got something for you." Here he drew up beneath the window. "You see, I
was down to the depot getting some milk aboard the up-train, and Davis,
the telegraph-man, came up and asked me, 'Bill Reynolds, are you going
up to Abbie's? 'cause,' says he, 'here's a telegraph has come for the
student up there--him that's going to marry Sophie Valeyon--and our boy
he's down with the influenza,' says he.
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