coat in summer, and his
rumpled shirt bulged out carelessly over the belt of his
trousers. His florid face was clean shaven, likely to be a trifle
tobacco-stained about the mouth, and it was conspicuous both for
good-nature and coarse humour, and for an imperturbable physical
composure. Nobody in the county had ever seen Nat Wheeler
flustered about anything, and nobody had ever heard him speak
with complete seriousness. He kept up his easy-going, jocular
affability even with his own family.

As soon as he was seated, Mr. Wheeler reached for the two-pint
sugar bowl and began to pour sugar into his coffee. Ralph asked
him if he were going to the circus. Mr. Wheeler winked.

"I shouldn't wonder if I happened in town sometime before the
elephants get away." He spoke very deliberately, with a
State-of-Maine drawl, and his voice was smooth and agreeable.
"You boys better start in early, though. You can take the wagon
and the mules, and load in the cowhides. The butcher has agreed
to take them."

Claude put down his knife. "Can't we have the car? I've washed it
on purpose."

"And what about Dan and Jerry? They want to see the circus just
as much as you do, and I want the hides should go in; they're
bringing a good price now. I don't mind about your washing the
car; mud preserves the paint, they say, but it'll be all right
this time, Claude."

The hired men haw-hawed and Ralph giggled. Claude's freckled face
got very red. The pancake grew stiff and heavy in his mouth and
was hard to swallow. His father knew he hated to drive the mules
to town, and knew how he hated to go anywhere with Dan and Jerry.
As for the hides, they were the skins of four steers that had
perished in the blizzard last winter through the wanton
carelessness of these same hired men, and the price they would
bring would not half pay for the time his father had spent in
stripping and curing them. They had lain in a shed loft all
summer, and the wagon had been to town a dozen times. But today,
when he wanted to go to Frankfort clean and care-free, he must
take these stinking hides and two coarse-mouthed men, and drive a
pair of mules that always brayed and balked and behaved
ridiculously in a crowd. Probably his father had looked out of
the window and seen him washing the car, and had put this up on
him while he dressed. It was like his father's idea of a joke.

Mrs. Wheeler looked at Claude sympathetically, feeling that he
was disappointed. Perhaps