Two days later a stranger got off of the train. He was short and fat, and he looked almost as rich as Kinderhook did.
“Bet that’s Binger,” says Catty.
“Bet it is, too,” says I.
So we rode with Pazzy Bills back to the hotel and saw the man register. Sure enough, his name was Matthew Binger and he asked if a man named Kinderhook was stopping there. The clerk allowed there was, and Mr. Binger asked the clerk if he would take up his card. The clerk done so, and pretty soon down comes Mr. Kinderhook, peering around like he was looking for somebody. He didn’t recognize Mr. Binger any more than as if he had never heard of him till the clerk says, “That’s the gentleman that wanted to see you, Mr. Kinderhook,” and Kinderhook walked over, holding the card in his hand and reading it.
“Mr. Binger?” says he, looking at the card again, as if he was making sure he had the name right.
“Matthew Binger—yes. And is this Mr. Arthur Peabody Kinderhook?”
“It is. What can I do for you?”
“I have come down from New York to talk business with you. Where can we go and be quiet?”
“Is your business secret, Mr. Binger? Because if it is, we can’t talk. I don’t do secret business. There’s nothing about my business that any of my good friends in this town can’t hear. Whatever you’ve got to say to me can be said right out on the porch—or it can’t be said at all.”
Mr. Binger he acted sulky, but it looked like there wasn’t anything he could do about it, so they went out and sat in red rocking-chairs, and Catty and I sat on the steps close by.