“Uh-huh. All about ‘to be or not to be a bean—that is the question.’ And something about his having suffered from the slung shots and bow arrers of outrageous fortune—whatever that might be. I guess he got it all out of the Scriptures. Your uncle said he was bugs; but I reckoned he was a preacher.”
“Jimminy!” muttered Tom. “A derelict actor, I bet. Sounds like a Shakespearean ham.”
“Goodness!” said Ruth. “Between the two of you boys I get a very strange idea of this person.”
“Where did he go, Ben?” Tom asked.
“I didn’t watch him. He only hung around a little while. I think he axed your uncle for some money, or mebbe something to eat. You see, he didn’t know Mr. Potter.”
“Not if he struck him for a hand-out,” muttered the slangy Tom.
“Oh, Ben! don’t you know whether he went toward Cheslow—or where?” cried Ruth.
“Does it look probable to you,” Tom asked, “that a derelict actor—— Oh, Jimminy! Of course! He would be just the person to see the value of that play script at a glance!”
“Oh, Tom!”
“Have you no idea where he went, Ben?” Tom again demanded of the puzzled mill hand.