“He must have jumped the fence here,” said Wilson, pointing to a cottage just beyond the hotel's back yard. “I'll see about it.” And he vaulted the pickets and looked about the place.
He was back in a minute with a shake of the head.
“Well, it's no great matter,” I said. “We can get along without another guest for the afternoon. Now get under cover, boys, or you'll be soaked through.”
The landlord met us with an air half-anxious, half-angry.
“I'd like to know who's to pay for this!” he cried. “There's a sash and four panes of glass gone to smithereens.”
“The gentleman who just went out will be glad to pay for it, if you'll call it to his attention,” I said blandly.
“I'll have the law on him!” shouted the landlord, getting red in the face. “And if he's a friend of yours you'd better settle for him, or it will be the worse for him.”
“I'm afraid he isn't a friend of mine,” I said dubiously. “He didn't appear to take that view of it.”
“That's so,” admitted the landlord. “But I don't know his name, and somebody's got to settle for that glass.”
I obliged the landlord with Mr. Meeker's name, and with the bestowal of this poor satisfaction returned to the interrupted meal.