“Supper’s all over,” said Alf, “and the girls is gone home, but you can have some clams and some coffee, if that will help you out any.”
We couldn’t drink the coffee, but the steamed clams and a big loaf of Portuguese bread as full of holes as a Swiss cheese were devoured before we spoke another word. By that time our host had put away his stamp collection and had joined us in the empty dining-room. He showed symptoms of a hesitant curiosity as to whether we were expecting to stay all night.
“We are going up to the House of the Five Pines,” I informed him. “We’re the people who bought it.”
“Are you?” His relief at our not wanting a bed at his “Sailor’s Rest” was mingled with skepticism. “To-night?”
I was very firm about to-night. Jasper did not say anything. I think he would have preferred to stay where he was, but did not like to say so. As the two men were silent, and rather sententiously smoked their pipes, I continued, “I want to sleep under my own roof.”
“If you can sleep!” said Alf.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s none of my business, but if I was just picking out a place to get a good night’s rest, it wouldn’t be the House of the Five Pines.”
“You think there is something wrong with it?”
“I know gosh-darn well there is! Pardon me. Wrong as rain. Of course I’m just telling you this out of friendliness.”