It was coloured a pale, robin's-egg blue, and on the side, in big
scarlet letters, was painted:
R. MIFFLIN'S
TRAVELLING PARNASSUS
GOOD BOOKS FOR SALE
SHAKESPEARE, CHARLES LAMB, R.L.S.
HAZLITT, AND ALL OTHERS
Underneath the wagon, in slings, hung what looked like a tent,
together with a lantern, a bucket, and other small things. The van
had a raised skylight on the roof, something like an old-fashioned
trolley car; and from one corner went up a stove pipe. At the back
was a door with little windows on each side and a flight of steps
leading up to it.
As I stood looking at this queer turnout, the little reddish man
climbed down from in front and stood watching me. His face was a
comic mixture of pleasant drollery and a sort of weather-beaten
cynicism. He had a neat little russet beard and a shabby Norfolk
jacket. His head was very bald.
"Is this where Andrew McGill lives?" he said.
I admitted it.
"But he's away until noon," I added. "He'll be back then. There's
roast pork for dinner."
"And apple sauce?" said the little man.
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