Part 25 (1/2)

”We're jest out o' truffles an' we're out o' mushrooms,” he said, ”but we're long on eggs an' ye can have 'em omeletted or fried or b'iled, as it suits yer fancy. Sophie's best hold is cookin' eggs. Sophie's my wife, ye know, an' there ain't no better cook in seven counties, so the drummers say.”

As he spoke he entered the house and led the way up the stairs.

”Thank you; thank you,” said the stranger. ”I am glad your good wife is an experienced cook. Kindly ask her to spare no expense in preparing my meals. I am willing to pay liberally for what I receive.”

”This room, with board,” remarked Hopper, setting down the suit cases in the front corner bedchamber, ”will cost you a dollar a day, or five dollars a week--if you eat our reg'lar meals. If ye keep callin' fer extrys, I'll hev to charge ye extry.”

”Very reasonable; very reasonable, indeed,” declared the stranger, taking a roll of bills from his pocket. ”As I am at present unknown to you, I beg you to accept this five-dollar bill in advance. And now, if you will bring me a pitcher of ice-water, I will take my needed siesta.

My nerves, as you may have observed, are at somewhat of a tension to-day.”

”We're out o' ice,” remarked the landlord, pocketing the money, ”but ye'll find plenty of good cold water at the pump in the back yard.

Anything else, sir?”

”I thank you, no. I am not thirsty. Ice-water is not necessary to my happiness. You will pardon me if I ask to be left alone--with my nerves.”

Hopper went away chuckling. His wife and Mary Ann were both at the foot of the stairs, lying in wait to question him.

”That feller's as good as a circus,” he a.s.serted, taking off his coat again and lighting his corncob pipe. ”He's got nerves an' money, an'

he's come here to git rid of 'em both.”

”Who is he?” demanded Mrs. Hopper.

”By gum, I fergot to ask him. I got thanked fer ev'rything I did an'

ev'rything I couldn't do, an' I've got five dollars o' his money in my jeans as a evidence o' good faith. The whole performance sort o'

knocked me out.”

”No wonder,” a.s.serted, his wife sympathetically.

”I'll bet he's some punkins, though,” declared Mary Ann, ”an' he'll be a G.o.dsend to us after a dull week. Only, remember this, if he kicks on the feed he don't git no satisfaction out o' me.”

”I don't think he'll kick on anything,” said her father. ”He wants eggs for his supper, in a omelet.”

”He couldn't want anything that's cheaper to make,” said Mrs. Hopper.

”The hens are layin' fine jus' now.”

”When he comes down, make him register,” suggested Mary Ann. ”If ye don't, we won't know what ter call him.”

”I'll call him an easy mark, whatever his name is,” said the landlord, grinning at his own attempt at wit.

The stranger kept his room until five o'clock. Then he came down, spick and span, his cane under his arm, upon his hands a pair of bright yellow kid gloves.

”I will now indulge in my walk,” said he, addressing the family group in the office. ”My nerves are better, but still vibrant. I shall be further restored on my return.”

”Jest sign the register,” proposed Hopper, pointing to a worn and soiled book spread upon the counter. ”Hate to trouble ye, but it's one o' the rules o' my hotel.”

”No trouble, thank you; no trouble at all,” responded the stranger, and drawing a fountain-pen from his pocket he approached the register and wrote upon the blank page. ”I hope there is, nothing to see in your town,” he remarked, turning away. ”I don't wish to see anything. I merely desire to walk.”

”Yer wish'll come true, I guess,” said Hopper. ”I've lived here over twenty year an' I hain't seen noth'n' yet. But the walkin' is as good as it is anywhere.”