Into the livery-stable he entered so heavily that he seemed to fall in. His cheap straw hat was pushed back from his head; he was flushed, and his eyes were too bright; his hair, which was red and coarse, lay matted on his forehead.
"I want a team," he began, on a high, sharp key. "I've got to get to Gloucester. The train's gone."
A sleepy groom, who scowled at him, turned on a suspicious heel. "You're drunk. It's fourteen miles. It would cost you more'n you're worth."
"I've got a little boy," repeated the lame man. "He's dying."
The groom wheeled back. "That so? Why, that's a pity. I'd like to 'commodate you. See? I'm here alone—see? I darsen't go so far without orders. Boss is home and abed."
"He got hurt in an accident," pleaded the father. "I come from up to Conway. I went to bury my uncle. They sent me a telegraph about my little boy. I ain't drunk. They sent me the telegraph. I've got to get home."
"I'll let you sleep here along of me," suggested the groom, "but I daresn't leave. I'm responsible to the boss. There's other places you might get one. I'll show you. See? I'd try 'em all if I was you."
But again the man was gone.
By the time he had found another stable his manner had changed; he had become deprecating, servile. He entreated, he trembled; he flung his emergency at the feet of the watchman; he reiterated his phrase:
"I've got a little boy, if you please. He's dying. I've got to get to Gloucester—I live in Squam."