“Actor!” exclaimed Arthur Raybold. “That’s nonsense. He’s not in the least like an actor. Anybody could see by his tread and his air that he’s never been on the stage. He’s more like a travelling salesman. The next thing he’ll do will be to pull out of that bag some samples of spool thread or patent thimbles.”
“You are both wrong,” said Margery—“entirely wrong. I have been looking at him, and I believe he is a Methodist minister with a dead horse. They ride circuits, and of course when their horses die they walk. Just wait a little, and see if I am not right.”
They waited a little, and then they waited a little longer, and they had begun to be tired of waiting before the stranger finished his meal and approached the fire. His face was brighter, his smile was more pleasant, and his step had a certain jauntiness in it.
“I thank you all,” he said, “for the very good meal I have just enjoyed. I am now going to go, but before I start I would like very much—indeed, I crave it as a favor—to place myself before you in my proper light. May I have permission to do so, madam and sir?” he said, addressing Mrs. and Mr. Archibald, but with a respectful glance at the others, as if he would not ignore any one of them.
“Certainly,” said Mrs. Archibald. “Sit down and tell us about yourself.”
The stranger seated himself with alacrity a little back from the circle, and nearer to the young men than to the Archibald party.