“Came over from Barrington, did ye?” said he. “And what’s the news in town?” And without waiting for an answer, the old man rose and hobbled to the side door. “Mike!” he cried, “Mike!” There was no answer. “I guess the feller must ha’ gone to Lee,” he added, grumbling. “There’s a cattle show there, to-day.”
“Let me go,” said Arthur; “I’ll look after them.”
“You’ll find the feed in the bin,” said the inn-keeper, relapsing into his stuffed chair, with a sigh of relief.
“And what’s the news from your son, Mr. Hitchcock?” said Arthur, when he came back.
“Lem’s still out in Ioway,” said Mr. Hitchcock. “There ain’t much call for a young feller of sperit to be loafin’ around here. I brought him up for the business; but I guess the old place’ll have to keep itself after I am gone.”
“Still at your old books, Mr. Hitchcock, I see,” said Arthur, taking up a well-worn copy of Tom Paine. “Why, I didn’t know you read French!” And Arthur turned over with interest the leaves of a book the other had just laid down; it was a volume of Voltaire.
“I l’arned it when I was a b’y in college. Perhaps ye didn’t know as I was a college-bred man?”
“I might have known it,” said Arthur. “But you didn’t send Lem there?”
“No,” said the other, shortly. And then, with a chuckle, “They’ve pretty much all come to my way of thinking, now. D’ye notice the old meetin’-house as ye came along? They’ve had to shut it up, ye know. Have a cigar?” And Mr. Hitchcock brought two suspicious looking weeds out of a gayly pictured box, and extended one to Arthur. The latter took one, knowing the old man would be mortally offended if this rite of hospitality were passed by.
“Whose house was that I saw boarded up?” said Arthur, for the sake of something to say.