od
still to utter what was in his mind, moving forward again, by way of
emphasis, at the end of a sentence. In these walks through the Cooper
Grounds, and about the village, the Bishop assumed acquaintance with
everyone, and frequently stopped to enter into conversation with a
neighbor, a passing tourist, or some workman toiling in a ditch. It was
because of his genuine interest in everyone that the village came to
regard Bishop Potter no longer as a distinguished metropolitan, but as a
genial neighbor. A stable-boy who at this period drove the village
rector to a country funeral expressed the sentiment of many when he
said: "I used to think the Bishop was stuck up; but he is really just as
common as me or you!"

Bishop Potter took great delight in amusing occurrences in which he
shared as he went about the village. In fact he seemed deliberately to
invite them, and afterward described the incidents with contagious
merriment. One day as he was about to enter a car of the trolley road on
Main Street, an enormously fat countrywoman was standing on the
platform, bidding farewell to her her friends. She had much to say, and
completely blocked the entrance to the car. After waiting patiently for
some moments the Bishop addressed the woman in his most gracious manner.
"Madam," said he, "I don't wish to interfere with your conversation, but
if you will kindly move either one way or the other, so that I may enter
the car, I shall be greatly obliged." The woman glared at him. "Are you
the conductor of this car?" she snapped, "Because if you be, you're the
sassiest conductor that ever _I_ see!"

In the late summer of 1904, "Doc" Brady, a lovable old Irish heart, who
used to peddle portraits of the Pope, corn salve, and various trifles,
encountered Bishop Potter in front of the Village Library, and invited a
purchase of his wares, which at this time included campaign buttons of
Col. Roosevelt and Judge Parker, attached to packages of chewing-gum.
"Here ye are, Bishop," he cried; "Get a button for your favorite
candidate!" The Bishop impartially selected a button of each kind, and
pushed the chewing-gum aside. "Take your goom, Bishop, take your goom,"
urged Brady, as the Bishop moved away. "No, certainly not," was the firm
reply. But Doc Brady was insistent, and hurrying after the Bishop forced
the gum upon him. "There," said he, "if you don't chew it yourself, take
it home to Mrs. Potter!" The Bishop's laugh rang aloud through th