Hiram put down his book. "The best way to find out is to ask him," he said laughing, and rose to go to the front door.
CHAPTER XXIII
AN INQUIRY
The rain dripped from the porch roof and a curtain of drizzle fell between the house and the gate where the gray horses stood. The bewhiskered individual had a rubber blanket over his knees and the water dripped from the brim of his hat into his lap—just as it dripped from the roof over Hiram Strong's head.
On the back seat of the old-fashioned carryall sat a second man. But Hiram could not see him very well at first.
"Hey!" yelled the bewhiskered man, "you ain't all deaf in there, are you?"
"Not all of us," replied Hiram. "I still have my hearing unimpaired. But 'hay' is for horses. It doesn't mean much to me. What do you want?"
Suddenly the man in the rear seat of the vehicle thrust forward his head. He wore spectacles and was evidently no farmer. He demanded:
"Have you any information of, or do you know anything personally about, Theodore, or Teddy, Chester, or a man calling himself by such name?"
"Never heard of him," declared Hiram.