Mr. Strout looked at the stranger with astonishment. Then he laughed, and, with a remembrance of Mr. Richard Ricker, asked sneeringly:
“What asylum did you come from?”
“I beg your pardon,” said the stranger. “I used to know Mr. Maxwell, and they told me in the city that he was a member of the firm of Strout and Maxwell.”
“Who told ye?”
“The trustees of the estate of Mr. Sawyer. Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer. Did you know him?”
“I never knew any good of him. So they told yer, did they? That shows how much attention they give to business. The old store was burned up and that busted the firm. This store's mine from cellar to chimney.”
“The old firm must have paid you well.”
“Pretty well—but I made my money in State Street, speculating and I'm well fixed.”
“I'm glad to hear that you've prospered. I wish my friend Maxwell had been as fortunate. What became of his interest and Mr. Sawyer's in the store?”
“Went up in smoke, didn't I tell yer?”