“I’ll go to your house, but I’ll not eat for I’m not hungry.”
Wharton led the way to the porch. Harvey, who was curious to learn more of this strange individual, deftly placed his chair so that the rays from the candle fell through the open window upon him. In obedience to the youth’s order, Bohunkus brought out a fourth stool, so that all were seated, the woman of the house remaining inside and attending to her duties, as if she felt no interest in what was going on.
The negro sat close to his companion and huskily whispered:
“Am he de feller dat rid down on de comet?”
“Bunk, the best thing you can do is to keep still and listen; our conversation is likely to be above your head.”
“Jest like de comet; all right; I ain’t saying nuffin.”
A part of the yellow rays touched Harvey, and the stranger turned and scrutinized him as if impelled by curiosity similar to that of the youth. The movement revealed the visitor’s face plainly, and it may be said it was in keeping with the impression he had already made. He wore a motorman’s cap, and a long, linen duster, buttoned to the chin and reaching downward to his slim tan shoes. What clothing was within this envelope was out of sight.
The face was long and covered with a grizzled beard that reached well down on his breast. He had removed his buckskin gloves, crossed his legs, and placed one of the hand coverings in his lap, while he loosely grasped the other and idly flipped the first with it as he talked.
But his eyes were the most striking feature of the remarkable man. They were overhung by shaggy brows, were of a piercing black color, and glowed as if with fire. Their startling glare caused a sudden suspicion in the mind of Harvey Hamilton that the man was partially insane. At least, he must be the curious individual best described by the word “crank,” one whom much study and research had made mad. As is well known, such a person often succeeds in hiding his affliction from his friends, or gains the reputation of being simply eccentric.
“What is your name and why are you here?” he abruptly asked, still looking in the face of Harvey, who said he lived at Mootsport, something more than a hundred miles distant.