“I do,” replied Philip, pausing. “It is—rather curious.” He did not wish to seem uncomfortable. “I think we shall hear something to-morrow. Good-night, sir.” And he went up-stairs again, too weary and dejected to talk over his worry with any comparative stranger.
Just as he closed his bed-room door, and as sounds from below were shut out, wheels came crackling up to the front piazza. Mr. Banger walked to the door. Somebody was standing beside his vehicle. “In half an hour,” he was saying; “and rub him down well before you bring him back.”
Mr. Banger recognized the voice.
“Ah, Mr. Jennison!” he exclaimed, as that gentleman came up the steps leisurely, “where do you hail from at this time of the evening?”
“When most decent people are going to sleep, ourselves the bright exceptions?” Mr. Winthrop Jennison returned.
“When most decent people are thinking about going to sleep,” the landlord answered humorously.
“Well,” returned Mr. Jennison, looking back solicitously after the horse, “I’ve been near Morse’s Farms for several days. I found I must drive over here to-night on some business. So on I came, Mr. Banger.”
“You’ll stop here, sir, till morning? I thought I heard you say—”
“Unfortunately, I can only rest here a half an hour, as you might have heard. I have promised to—to—give a friend of mine on the Point some important papers before to-morrow. He is expecting me. My horse is so blown that I find I must get there a little later than I like.”