CHAPTER III
The Foreman of the L.X.
"Now what for an outfit's that!"
Mr. Poth's disparaging voice in the doorway caused Nan to lift her eyes from the magazine she was reading in the shade of the Cottonwood, which had become her favorite seat during the week that had elapsed since her arrival in Hopedale, to look at a prairie schooner drawn by a thin gray horse and a little mule which was crawling up the street. The wagon had been mended often with baling wire and the harness was a patch-work of ropes, chains, and leather straps. A dusty, sun-blistered boy in an orange sweater pulled the wagon to a standstill in front of the hotel and inquired:
"Any place about here we-all can camp?"
"T'other side of the Merchantile Emporium air a pop'lar place," Poth responded hospitably.
"Ary opery-hous here?"
