"Certainly, sir. Room, sir?" he said suavely, pushing an open book and a pen halfway across the counter.
"H'm, yes, I—I suppose so," murmured the stranger, as he hesitatingly crossed the floor. "H'm; one must sleep, you know," he added, as he examined the point of the pen.
"Certainly, sir, certainly," agreed Jared, whose face was somewhat twisted in his endeavors to smile on the prospective guest and frown at the two men winking and gesticulating over by the stove.
"H'm," murmured the stranger a third time, as he signed his name with painstaking care. "There, that's settled! Now where shall I find Professor Marvin, please?"
"Professor Marvin!" repeated Jared stupidly.
"Yes; Professor George Marvin," bowed the stranger.
"Why, there ain't no Professor Marvin, that I know of."
"Mebbe he means old Marvin's son," interposed Seth Wilber with a chuckle.
The stranger turned inquiringly.
"His name's 'George,' all right," continued Seth, with another chuckle, "but I never heard of his professin' anythin'—'nless 't was laziness."