As they came nearer, Dickey saw that it
was an old man carrying on his back, at each side and in front of him,
some part or piece of almost every imaginable thing. Umbrellas, chair
bottoms, panes of glass, knives, forks, pans, dusters, tubs, spoons and
stove-lids, graters and grind-stones, saws and samovars,--"Almost
everything one could possibly think of," said Dickey to himself.
The moment that the Fantasm caught sight of the strange figure he
stopped, and Dickey noticed that his face, which was tucked securely
under his left arm, turned quite pale.
"Gracious me!" he exclaimed in a thoroughly frightened way. "There's the
Itinerant Tinker again! Now," he added hastily and dolefully, "I shall
have to leave you and run for it."
"Why, you're surely not afraid of _him_!" Dickey exclaimed
incredulously. Dickey was really surprised, for the old man, so far as
he could judge from that distance, wore an extremely mild and kindly
look. "Why do you have to run?" he asked.
"Why? _Why?_" the Fantasm fairly shouted. "I told you a moment ago that
he was the _Itinerant Tinker_! He tries to mend every broken and
unbroken thing in Fantasma Land! Every time he catches me," went on the
Fantasm, as he edged cautiously away, "he tries to glue on my head. It's
very annoying--and, besides, it hurts! Good-by, Dickey!" he called, and
disappeared forthwith into the bushes.
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