His horse and buggy were the finest that the livery stable could furnish.

The lap robe was of white linen, it was new, and it had a hand-worked border that could not be rivaled in that region for beauty and elaboration.
When he was four miles out on the lonely road and was walking his horse over a wooden bridge, his straw hat blew off and fell in the creek, and floated down and lodged against a bar.

He did not quite know what to do.
He must have the hat, that was manifest; but how was he to get it?
Then he had an idea.

The roads were empty, nobody was stirring.

Yes, he would risk it.