"So there you are! From cussin' automobiles he's got so that he can't talk enough good about 'em. And every day sence then he's out on the road layin' for another chance at Tobias. I hope he gets that chance pretty soon, because--well, there's a rumor goin' round that Loveland is plannin' to swap his car for a bigger and faster one. If he does . . ."
"If he does," interrupted Captain Sol, "I hope you'll fix the next race for over here. I'd like to see you go by, Barzilla."
"Guess you'd have to look quick to see him," laughed Stitt.
"Speakin' about automobiles--"
"By gum!" ejaculated Wingate, "you'd have to look somewheres else to find ME. I've got all the auto racin' I want!"
"Speakin' of automobiles," began Captain Bailey again. No one paid the slightest attention.
"How's Dusenberry, your baby, Hiram?" asked the depot master, turning to Captain Baker. "His birthday's the Fourth, and that's only a couple of days off."
The proud parent grinned, then looked troubled.
"Why, he ain't real fust-rate," he said. "Seems to be some under the weather. Got a cold and kind of sore throat. Dr. Parker says he cal'lates it's a touch of tonsilitis. There's consider'ble fever, too. I was hopin' the doctor'd come again to-day, but he's gone away on a fishin' cruise. Won't be home till late to-morrer.
I s'pose me and Sophrony hadn't ought to worry. Dr. Parker seems to know about the case."
"Humph!" grunted the depot master, "there's only two bein's in creation that know it all. One's the Almighty and t'other's young Parker. He's right out of medical school and is just as fresh as his diploma. He hadn't any business to go fishin' and leave his patients. We lost a good man when old Dr. Ryder died. He . . .
Oh, well! you mustn't worry, Hiram. Dusenberry'll pull out in time for his birthday. Goin' to celebrate, was you?"
Captain Baker nodded. "Um-hm," he said. "Sophrony's goin' to bake a frosted cake and stick three candles on it--he's three year old, you know--and I've made him a 'twuly boat with sails,' that's what he's been beggin' for. Ho! ho! he's the cutest little shaver!"
"Speakin' of automobiles," began Bailey Stitt for the third time.
"That youngster of yours, Hiram," went on the depot master, "is the right kind. Compared with some of the summer young ones that strike this depot, he's a saint."
Captain Hiram grinned. "That's what I tell Sophrony," he said.
"Sometimes when Dusenberry gets to cuttin' up and she is sort of provoked, I say to her, 'Old lady,' I say, 'if you think THAT'S a naughty boy, you ought to have seen Archibald.'"
"Who was Archibald?" asked Barzilla.
"He was a young rip that Sim Phinney and I run across four years ago when we went on our New York cruise together. The weir business had been pretty good and Sim had been teasin' me to go on a vacation with him, so I went. Sim ain't stopped talkin' about our experiences yet. Ho! ho!"
"You bet he ain't!" laughed the depot master. "One mix-up you had with a priest, and a love story, and land knows what. He talks about that to this day."
"What was it? He never told me," said Wingate.
"Why, it begun at the Golconda House, the hotel where Sim and I was stayin'. We--"
"Did YOU put up at the Golconda?" interrupted Barzilla. "Why, Cap'n Jonadab and me stayed there when we went to New York."
"I know you did. Jonadab recommended it to Sim, and Sim took the recommendation. That Golconda House is the only grudge I've got against Jonadab Wixon. It sartin is a tough old tavern."
"I give in to that. Jonadab's so sot on it account of havin' stopped there on his honeymoon, years and years ago. He's too stubborn to own it's bad. It's a matter of principle with him, and he's sot on principle."
"Yes," continued Baker. "Well, Sim and me had been at that Golconda three days and nights. Mornin' of the fourth day we walked out of the dinin' room after breakfast, feelin' pretty average chipper. Gettin' safe past another meal at that hotel was enough of itself to make a chap grateful.
"We walked out of the dinin' room and into the office. And there, by the clerk's desk, was a big, tall man, dressed up in clothes that was loud enough to speak for themselves, and with a shiny new tall hat, set with a list to port, on his head. He was smooth-faced and pug-nosed, with an upper lip like a camel's.
"He didn't pay much attention to us, nor to anybody else, for the matter of that. He was as mournful as a hearse, for all his joyful togs.
"'Fine day, ain't it?' says Sim, social.
"The tall chap looked up at him from under the deck of the beaver hat.
"'Huh!' he growls out, and looks down again.
"'I say it's a fine day,' said Phinney again.
"'I was after hearin' yez say it,' says the man, and walks off, scowlin' like a meat ax. We looked after him.
"'Who was that murderer?' asks Sim of the clerk. 'And when are they going to hang him?'
"'S-sh-sh!' whispers the clerk, scart. ''Tis the boss. The bloke what runs the hotel. He's a fine man, but he has troubles. He's blue.'
"'So that's the boss, hey?' says I. 'And he's blue. Well, he looks it. What's troublin' him? Ain't business good?'
"'Never better. It ain't that. He has things on his mind. You see--'
"I cal'late he'd have told us the yarn, only Sim wouldn't wait to hear it. We was goin' sight-seein' and we had 'aquarium' and 'Stock Exchange' on the list for that afternoon. The hotel clerk had made out a kind of schedule for us of things we'd ought to see while we was in New York, and so fur we'd took in the zoological menagerie and the picture museum, and Central Park and Brooklyn Bridge.
"On the way downtown in the elevated railroad Sim done some preachin'. His text was took from the Golconda House sign, which had 'T. Dempsey, Proprietor,' painted on it.
"'It's that Dempsey man's conscience that makes him so blue, Hiram,' says Sim. 'It's the way he makes his money. He sells liquor.'
"'Oh!' says I. 'Is THAT it? I thought maybe he'd been sleepin' on one of his own hotel beds. THEY'RE enough to make any man blue--black and blue.'
