Such behavior may have perplexed Potts, but daunt him it could not.

From Chislett's top step he read Chislett's letter to the delighted throng, a letter in which Potts was said to bear an unblemished reputation, and to be a gentleman and a scholar, amply meriting any trust that might be reposed in him.
From Chislett's they moved on to the foot of the stairs leading to the _Argus_ office.

Potts sent Big Joe up for twenty-five copies of the latest number, and, standing on the coal box, he gallantly distributed these to the crowd as it filed before him, intoning from memory, meantime, snatches of the eulogy, while the crowd flourished the papers and gurgled noisily.
A brief plunge into the lethal flood at Skeyhan's, and they came once more abroad, this time closing the Boston Cash Store most expeditiously.
Potts, enthroned upon a big box in front, among bolts of muslin, straw hats, and bunches of innocent early lettuce, read the splendid tribute of the store's proprietor to his capacity as an expert in jurisprudence and his fitness for a seat of judicial honor.

The bank and Chislett's being still closed, the little street, except in the near vicinity of Potts, began to sleep in a strange calm.
There were other doors to conquer, however, and Potts, at the head of his _Argus_-waving crowd of degenerates, vanquished them all.
Up and down he wandered busily, doors closing and curtains falling swiftly at his approach.

Then would he turn majestically, and say, with a hand raised, "My friends, a moment's silence, while I read you this magnificent tribute from one who is unfortunately not among us." He was so impressive with this that at last the crowd would remove hats at each reading, to the Colonel's manifest approval.