The next day he received an intimation that the annual exhibition of the Sage Butte Farmers' Club would shortly be held; and one morning a fortnight later he and Edgar rode off to the settlement.
They found the little town rudely decorated with flags and arches of poplar boughs, and a good-humored crowd assembled.

The one-sided street that faced the track was lined with buggies, wagons, and a few automobiles; horses and two or three yoke of oxen were tethered outside the overfull livery stables.
A strong breeze drove blinding dust-clouds through the place, but even in the wind the sunshine was scorching.
As he strolled toward the fair-ground, George became interested in the crowd.

It was largely composed of small farmers, and almost without exception they and their wives were smartly attired; they looked contented and prosperous.

Mingling with them were teamsters, many as neatly dressed as their masters, though some wore blue-jean and saffron-colored shirts; and there were railroad-hands, mechanics, and store-keepers.

All of them were cheerful; a few good years, free from harvest frost and blight, had made a marked improvement in everybody's lot.
Yet, there was another side to the picture.