At this moment he nearly collided with Ruth Seer, as she came swiftly round the Post Office corner.
They both stopped, laughed, and apologized.
“I was just on my way to you with some of our early strawberries,” said Mr. Fothersley, exposing a corner of the contents of his basket.
“How very good of you!” exclaimed Ruth. “And I do love them. Will you wait for me one moment? I am going on my way to send a telegram to Mr. North.”
Now curiosity was the most prominent trait in Mr. Fothersley’s funny little character, and it was the naked and unashamed curiosity of the small child. It might almost be looked on as a virtue turned inside out, so real and keen was his interest in his neighbors’ affairs, an interest often followed by sympathy and help.
“Telegraphing to North!” he exclaimed. “What about?”
No inhabitant of any length of time would have been in the least astonished, but Ruth, for a moment or two taken thoroughly aback, simply stared at him. Then, somewhat late in the day, it began to dawn on her that her telegram to Roger North might possibly demand an explanation, and one she had no intentions of giving.
“Telegraphing to North? What about?” repeated Mr. Fothersley, his little pink face beaming with kindly interest.
The whole truth being out of the question, there was nothing for it but as much as possible.
“I want to see him to ask his opinion on a matter of importance,” said Ruth.