ld
instantly have made a brush-agent of me. At least he would have carried
me along with him in his buggy; but when he suggested it I felt very
much, I think, as some old monk must have who had taken a vow to do
some particular thing in some particular way. With great difficulty I
convinced him finally that my way was different from his--though he was
regally impartial as to what road he took next--and, finally, with some
reluctance, he started to climb into his buggy.

A thought, however, struck him suddenly, and he stepped down again, ran
around to the box at the back of his buggy, opened it with a mysterious
and smiling look at me, and took out a small broom-brush with which he
instantly began brushing off my coat and trousers--in the liveliest and
most exuberant way. When he had finished this occupation, he quickly
handed the brush to me.

"A token of esteem," he said, "from a fellow traveller."

I tried in vain to thank him, but he held up his hand, scrambled quickly
into his buggy, and was for driving off instantly, but paused and
beckoned me toward him. When I approached the buggy, he took hold of one
the lapels of my coat, bent over, and said with the utmost seriousness:

"No man ought to take the road without a brush. A good broom-brush is
the world's greatest civilizer. Are you looking seedy or dusty?--why,
this here brush will instantly make you a respectable citizen. Take my
word for it, friend, never go into any strange house without stoppin'
and brushin' off. It's money in your purse! You can get along without
dinner sometimes, or even without a shirt, but without a brush--never!
There's nothin' in the world so necessary to rich AN' poor, old AN'
young as a good brush!"

And with a final burst of enthusiasm the brush-peddler drove off up the
hill. I stood watching him and when he turned around I waved the brush
high over my head in token of a grateful farewell.

It was a good, serviceable, friendly brush. I carried it throughout my
wanderings; and as I sit here writing in my study, at this moment, I can
see it hanging on a hook at the side of my fireplace.

CHAPTER III. THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD

"Everyone," remarks Tristram Shandy, "will speak of the fair as his own
market has gone in it."

It came near being a sorry fair for me on the afternoon following my
parting with the amiable brush-peddler. The plain fact is, my success
at the Stanleys', and the easy manner in which I had fall