rt, at present spread over his precious shot-gun, had been worn once
more than he could have wished, but, after all, how much of one's shirt
showed? It would pass. The coat-shirt not yet introduced, a man had
to slip the old-fashioned kind over his head, drag it down past his
shoulders and poke blindly for the sleeve openings. Martin was thankful
when he felt the collar buttons in their holes. His salt and pepper suit
was of a stiff, unyielding material, and the first time he had worn
it the creases had vanished never to return. Before putting on his
celluloid collar, he spat on it and smeared it off with the tail of his
shirt. A recalcitrant metal shaper insisted on peeking from under his
lapels, and his ready-made tie with its two grey satin-covered
cardboard wings pushed out of sight, see-sawed, necessitating frequent
adjustments. His brown derby, the rim of which made almost three
quarters of a circle at each side, seemed to want to get as far as
possible from his ears and, at the same time, remain perched on his
head. The yellow shoes looked as though each had half a billiard ball in
the toe, and the entire tops were perforated with many diverging lines
in an attempt for the decorative. Those were the days of sore feet
and corns! Hart Schaffner and Marx had not yet become rural America's
tailor. Sartorial magicians in Chicago had not yet won over the young
men of the great corn belt, with their snappy lines and style for the
millions. In 1890, when a suit served merely as contrast to a pair of
overalls, the Martin Wades who would clothe themselves pulled their
garments from the piles on long tables. It was for the next generation
to patronize clothiers who kept each suit on its separate hanger. A
moving-picture of the tall, broad-shouldered fellow, as, with creaking
steps, he walked from the house, might bring a laugh from the young
farmers of this more fastidious day, but Martin was dressed no worse
than any of his neighbors and far better than many. Health, vigor,
sturdiness, self-reliance shone from him, and once his make-up had
ceased to obtrude its clumsiness, he struck one as handsome. His was a
commanding physique, hard as the grim plains from which he wrested his
living.

As Martin drove into Fallon, his attention was directed toward the
architecture and the women. He observed that the average homes were
merely a little larger than his own--four, six, or eight rooms instead
of one, made a little trimmer wit