It was a beautiful night; the full moon poured down a cataract of silent white light like spray, and the dew (almost frost) lay on the grass and reflected the glory of the autumn sky; the air was still and had that peculiar property, common to the prairie air, of carrying sound to a great distance.
The road was hard and smooth, and the spirited little team bowled the heavy wagon along at a swift pace.

"We're late," Crandall said, as he snapped his long whip over the heads of his horses, "and we've got to make it in twenty-five minutes or miss part of the show." This caused Johnny great anxiety.

He had never seen a play and wanted to see it all.
He looked at the flying legs of the horses and pushed on the dashboard, chirping at them slyly.
Rock Falls was the county town and the only town where plays could be produced.

It was a place of about 3,000 inhabitants at that time, and to Johnny's childish eyes it was a very great place indeed.

To go to town was an event, but to go with the men at night, and to a show, was something to remember a lifetime.
There was little talk as they rushed along, only some singing of a dubious sort by Bill Young, on the back seat.