One pleasant evening toward the end of April, when the sun peeped out, just before setting, after a smart little shower, Roger went to the post-office, to wait for the stage to come in with the mail. Adrian was not with him, for he had some chores to do, and of late Roger had fallen into the habit of going to the village alone occasionally.
He sat on the steps of Hank Mack's general store, which also contained the post-office, talking with several boys, whose acquaintance he had made since he arrived in Cardiff.
"There she comes," cried Frank Dobbs, as he pointed to a moving object half a mile away. Roger looked and saw the stage, which advanced rapidly and in a few minutes drew up at the steps with a flourish. Porter Amidown jumped off, lugging the heavy mail bag into the little room partitioned off from the main store, where the letters and papers would be sorted and put in the different boxes.
Most of the boys followed Porter inside, but Roger lingered on the steps to see if the stage brought any passengers. He saw Enberry Took alight from the driver's high seat, and the boy nodded to him. Then from inside the vehicle two men got out. One was an elderly gentleman, bearing a valise of which he seemed to take great care. His companion was younger, and, when he had stepped out he lifted after him a long, three-legged instrument, of the kind Roger had often seen surveyors use. The younger man also carried a small satchel, which he handled as if it contained something of value.
"Where's the hotel; that is, Crownheart's hotel?" asked the younger man of Roger, who just then was the only person at hand.
"Right over there, sir," pointing to the single inn of which the village boasted, and which stood a little way up the hill, beyond the post-office.
"Thanks, my boy," said the inquirer. Then to his companion, "This way, Mr. Dudley. It doesn't look very promising, to be sure, but then, you know, you never can tell by the looks of a toad how far it can jump. I guess we can stand it for a night or two, until we find out whether there is any truth in this report or not," and the two men started toward the Pine Tree Inn, as Abe Crownheart called his hotel.
Roger stood looking at the strangers for a minute, wondering what their object might be in coming to Cardiff with their instrument and the valises, and he puzzled over the younger man's last words. Then dismissing the matter from his mind, he went in for the mail. When he found a letter for him from home, he was so delighted that he forgot all about the two new arrivals.
Abe Crownheart was considerably surprised when Mr. Dudley and Mr. Ranquist, as the men introduced themselves, appeared at his hotel and asked for accommodations.
"I suppose we can have a bed," suggested Mr. Dudley.