“The Point Road! That’s six miles, at least! and you’ve driven twelve since you started, and in a hurry, too!”
“I know it. But it’s a special matter, and I must get to that house some time this evening. My friend will sit up for me. Can you give me a good cigar, Mr. Banger? Sorry I can’t stop.”
Joe bustled off to the bar-room to fetch a box. Mr. Jennison glanced at the hotel register with an air of indifference.
“Are those young fellows that were on the steamer—the two that were thought drowned—still with you? I read about the thing a while ago in the paper.”
“Yes; I disguised the names on the register there to oblige them. ‘Mr. Philip and brother.’ Odd circumstance. They haven’t heard from their folks yet. Queerer still.”
“They haven’t?” asked Mr. Jennison. He twisted his mustache and pored over the book. Suddenly he looked up as Joe brought the cigars for his selection, and said, “‘Mr. Philip and brother.’ I think I have some recollection about that name. I wonder if—” He stopped, and cut and lighted the cigar deliberately.
“By the bye, one of them, the elder, inquired after you and your friend Mr. Belmont. I forgot it, I declare!”
“Inquired after me? After that Mr. Belmont who happened to be with me? I hardly know Belmont. That’s singular. But they may have heard my name. Describe them to me, if you please, Mr. Banger.”
Whatever in this dialogue was acting would have done credit to any player on the boards. The tones of voice, the looks, gestures, were alike highly artistic.
Mr. Banger described. He had not talked with Mr. Jennison often; but he had respect for that gentleman’s supposed knowledge of the world, though he was inclined to suspect that it took in a peculiarly shady side of it. He liked Mr. Jennison; but he did not altogether understand him.