When he came around to the front of the station again he saw the stationmaster humped over his desk in the bay window, with a pen stuck over his ear, looking for all the world like a secretary bird. He peered out of the window at Hiram curiously, and finally pushed up the sash.
"I don't know whether you know it or not, young fellow," the stationmaster said, "but the company charges mileage if you use this platform for a walking track. And you'll make trouble for me if you keep going around, for I never have found out how many laps make a mile, and I sha'n't know what to charge you."
Hiram Strong smiled his approval of this brand of humor, yet his question put in reply was quite serious:
"Have you seen anybody around here, sir, from a place called Sunnyside Farm?"
"There isn't anybody at Sunnyside Farm, as far as I know," said the stationmaster; "and there hasn't been since the house burned down last year."
"Yes, I know," Hiram said quickly. "But I rather expected Mr. Bronson would have somebody over here to meet me."
"Mr. Stephen Bronson?" asked the man. "Him that's just bought the Sunnyside place?"
"Yes. It's quite a walk to the farm, isn't it?"
"It is the longest two miles you ever walked, son," declared the stationmaster. "Were you thinking to walk it to-night?"
"As there is nobody here to meet me, I guess I'll have to," replied the youth cheerfully. "Which way do I head? You'll have to start me right, or else I may wear out your platform walking around and around on it all night."