The entrance gave upon a small space which had the semblance of an office, with various merchandise as its walls. A cash register, a few account books, and a desk of polished wood on high rickety legs, together with an old clerk, deaf and shortsighted, completed the paraphernalia of the place.
Ben entered this space, gave "good day" to the deaf old clerk, and then looked about him for someone in authority—Giraud, if possible.
Down long lanes of merchandise he caught sight of several clerks and a number of customers. He hesitated which way to take, then was saved the necessity of choice by the appearance of the proprietor.
Ben recognized him from descriptions heard on the waterfront, and from a glimpse he had had of him in the old days. It was not a figure to be forgotten, once seen. Giraud was a man of commanding presence. His bulk alone inspired respect. He was enormously tall for a Frenchman, over six feet, and his immense girth, his great rounding shoulders, gave a suggestion of bull strength. On top of this great mass of flesh was set a head which, in proportion with the trunk, looked ridiculously small. The face was clean shaven, and under a low forehead were set two crafty-looking eyes which hid their cunning, under heavy half-lowered lids.
Ben was no more a match in duplicity for such a person than a new-born babe. He had the intelligence to realize this and decided that he would make the interview as short as possible.
Giraud's eyelids flicked once indifferently, and he felt that he knew all about Ben, his antecedents, his occupation, his very innermost thoughts.
"Mr. Giraud, I think," said Ben in his bluff, simple manner.
"Yes," admitted Giraud non-committally.
"I heerd of you from Sam Stooding," said Ben expansively. "I bought that there boat of his, the Nancy. A good boat, too, in her way. Sam finds out one way and another that I'm likely to make a trip to St. Pierre now and then, so he says to me, you take my word fer it, Ben—Ben Wheeler, that's me name—you take my word fer it, Ben, says Sam, you can't do better than trade at Giraud's if you ever think of bringin' in a little brandy or tobaccy. I got a good respect fer Sam; Sam knows what's what. So here I be and right glad to meet you, mister."
Giraud's face remained expressionless during this garrulous introduction, but he acknowledged Ben's cordiality with a slight nod not to be mistaken for the courtesy of a bow. He did not remember ever having heard Stooding's name before. But then, there were scores of his customers whom he never saw, much less knew by name, and it was not the first time that the indirect recommendation of such had had good results.