The sports of the day had already begun. From curb to curb the way was
jammed with a dense mass of men, women, and children, through whom he
had to worm his way. After ten feet of this, he heard his name called,
and looking up, caught sight of Mary herself, perched on a dry-goods
box, frantically waving a handkerchief in his direction.
"You're a nice one!" she cried in mock reproach as he struggled toward
her. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flew red signals of enjoyment.
Bennington explained.
"I know. Well, it didn't matter, any way. I just captured this box.
Climb up. There's room. I've lost the doctor and Mrs. McPherson
already."
Two mounted men, decorated with huge tin marshals' badges, rode slowly
along forcing the crowd back to the right and to the left. The first
horse race was on. Suddenly there was an eager scramble, a cloud of
dust, a swift impression of dim ghostlike figures. It was over. The
crowd flowed into the street again.
The two pressed together, hand in hand, on the top of the dry-goods
box. They laughed at each other and everything. Something beautiful was
very near to them, for this was the Pioneer's Picnic, and both
remembered that the Pioneer's Picnic marked the limit of many things.
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