But she was looking up at him and
didn't seem to hear me.
* * * * *
My companion arrived at the station in an old hack, with horses at the
gallop. He was barely in time.
When we were settled in the car, bowling along over the prairies toward
the little junction town of Artesia, I turned to him and inquired how
his work had gone that morning. But at that moment he caught sight,
through the car window, of some negroes sitting at a cabin door, and
exclaimed over their picturesqueness.
I agreed. Then, as the train left them behind, I repeated my question:
"How did your work go?"
"This is very fertile-looking country," said he.
This time I did not reply, but asked:
"Did you finish both sketches?"
"No," he answered. "Not both. There wasn't time."
"Let's see the one you did."
"As a matter of fact," he returned, "I didn't do any. You know how it
is. Sometimes a fellow feels like drawing--sometimes he doesn't. Somehow
I didn't feel like it this morning."
With that he lifted the lapel of his coat and, bending his head
downward, sniffed in a romantic manner at the sickeningly sweet flower
in his buttonhole.
CHAPTER XLV
VICKSBURG OLD AND NEW
I should advise the traveler who is interested in cities not to enter
Vicksburg by the Alabama & Vicksburg Railroad, which has a dingy little
station in a sort of gulch, but by the Yazoo & Mississippi Valley
Railroad--a branch of the Illinois Central--which skirts the river bank
and flashes a large first impression of the city before the eyes of
alighting passengers.
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