He had
been, he remembered, "GIDEON, America's Foremost Native Comedian," a
title that was at once boast and challenge. That necessity was now
past, for he was a national character; any explanatory qualification
would have been an insult to the public intelligence. To the world he
was just "Gideon"; that was enough. It gave him pleasure, as he
sauntered along, to see the announcement repeated on window cards and
hoardings.
Presently he came to a window before which he paused in delighted
wonder. It was not a large window; to the casual eye of the passer-by
there was little to draw attention. By day it lighted the fractional
floor space of a little stationer, who supplemented a slim business by
a sub-agency for railroad and steamship lines; but to-night this
window seemed the framework of a marvel of coincidence. On the broad,
dusty sill inside were propped two cards: the one on the left was his
own red-lettered announcement for the week; the one at the right--oh,
world of wonders!--was a photogravure of that exact stretch of the
inner coast of Florida which Gideon knew best, which was home.
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