“What is it?” asked Tony a little more seriously.
“You remember when Guy an’ mother went away—you were at the depot; that man was there, too. Didn’t you see ’im?”
“I don’t know. What did he do?—steal a glass of buttermilk from the cowcatcher?”
“You won’t take this seriously at all, Tony. But just wait till you come over tonight and I’ll show you a letter from Guy that’ll surprise you.”
“What’s it about?” asked Tony, his levity gone.
“Never mind now. You made fun o’ me, and I’m going to keep you guessing awhile.”
It was Guy’s first long letter since leaving Ferncliffe that Walter showed to his friend that evening. The missive had arrived the day before and was postmarked London. It contained much detail concerning the voyage and the absent brother’s first impressions of the city on the Thames.
After performing this traveler’s duty, Guy became more personal and told of incidents more intimately affecting himself and his mother. He began this part of his letter with an account of the peculiar actions of the man with the high-crowned derby and the trowel-shaped patent leathers, writing in part as follows:
“After we reached New York, we lost sight of him, and I forgot all about him for several days. But he came back to my mind on the ship, and I couldn’t help thinking of his funny actions. I’m sure now that he was interested in what mother and I were talking about. I can’t forget the way I caught him looking at me once when I turned around and faced him in the car. And it’s mightly funny, too, his getting the seat just behind us on both trains. I can’t believe it just happened that way, though I thought so at first.”
“Now, what do you think?” asked Walter as his friend finished reading the letter.