"Can you tell me where Mr. Harding lives?" he asked politely. "Mr. Harding, the watchmaker and jeweller?"
"Yes, I can," was the reply; "he lives here."
"Here!"
The stranger was evidently greatly astonished, for he took a step backwards, and gazed at the house with such a look of blank dismay on his countenance that John Monday almost laughed. Then he read Mr. Harding's name on the sign-board above the shop window, and exclaimed—
"Well, I never! To think that this should be the place! Well, I am surprised!"
"Do you want to see Mr. Harding?" the boy inquired.
"Yes—at least, I wanted to see his little cousin. Is she in?"
"No; she isn't home from school yet, but she'll be back by-and-by. Will you call again, or perhaps you'd like to come inside and wait?"
"I think I'd better wait. I've carried this basket from the station, and it's rather heavy."
John Monday led the way into the shop, and gave the newcomer a chair. The big man sat down, and, after placing his basket on the floor, took from his pocket a red handkerchief, with which he wiped his heated face.