vage-looking Californian went up to the box slowly. Then he
kicked it lightly with his big boot, seeming to listen to its
reverberation. Then he read the address. Then he sat down on the box to
take a think. After a time he began speaking aloud. "They hold up a
stage," he said, slowly. "They lay up a passenger fer a month. And they
lame Bob Griffiths fer life. And then they do up Buck. Shoot a hole
through his spine. And I helped bury him; fer I liked Buck." The speaker
paused, and looked at the box. Then he got up. "I hain't attended their
prayer-meetin's," said he, "and I hain't smelt their flowers. Such
perfume's liable to make me throw up. But I guess I'll hev a look at
their cake."

He went to the baggage-room and brought an axe. The axe descended, and a
splintered slat flew across the platform. "There's a lot of cake," said
Abe. The top of the packing-case crashed on the railroad track, and
three new men gathered to look on. "It's fresh cake too," remarked the
destroyer. The box now fell to pieces, and the tattered paper wrapping
was ripped away. "Step up, boys," said Abe, for a little crowd was there
now. "Soft, ain't it?" They slung the cake about and tramped it in the
grime and oil, and the boards of the box were torn apart and whirled
away. There was a singular and growing impulse about all this. No one
said anything; they were very quiet; yet the crowd grew quickly, as if
called together by something in the air. One voice said, "Don't forgit
we're all relyin' on yer serenade, Mark," and this raised a strange
united laugh that broke brief and loud, and stopped, leaving the silence
deeper than before. Mark and three more left, and walked towards the
Lyceum. They were members of the Siskiyou band, and as they went one
said that the town would see an interesting trial in the morning. Soon
after they had gone the crowd moved from the station, compact and swift.

Meanwhile the Lyceum had been having disappointments. When the train was
known to be late, Amanda had abandoned bestowing the cake until morning.
But now a horrid thing had happened: the Siskiyou band refused its
services! The rocking-chairs were plying strenuously; but Amanda strode
up and down in front of Mount Shasta and Lucretia Mott.

Herr Schwartz entered. "It's all right, madam," said he. "My trombone
haf come back, und--"

"You'll play?" demanded the president.

"We blay for de ladies."

The rocking-chairs were abandoned; the Lyceum put on it