"No, to be sure. I had forgotten. A primitive place, truly. Is it possible that I spent my early years in St. Placide? But six o'clock? Surely not. Ah, I have it. Ha! Ha! How curious! It is that I have not set my watch since I left Elko, and there is a difference of two hours--or is it three?"
"Two hours," said Jean, with confidence. "You have mountain time there, I believe, and here we have eastern time. Yes, two hours."
The stranger's eyes narrowed as he looked sharply at Jean.
"Eh, what? You know that? What the deuce? Who is this? The little priest, as I live! Monseigneur! And as learned as ever, always wishing to teach one something, always casting away pearls of knowledge. Well met, my ancient friend, after all these years. This is too much pleasure. Your hand, my brave one, for the sake of old times."
The stranger extended a long, slender hand that closed about Jean's fingers like a vice of steel; but Jean understood the trick of the thumb as well as he, and it was Pamphile's hand that was the first to relax.
"Enough, enough, my brave one. It is the same Jean Baptiste that I see and feel. Dieu, but you have a loving clasp of the hand. It brings tears to the eyes. Well, my friend the cabby, you seem impatient. What can I do for you?"
"My fare, if you please, Monsieur--the little five dollars that we spoke of."
"Ah, yes, assuredly," said Pamphile, drawing out of his pocket a roll of bills, not one of a lower denomination than twenty dollars. "You can change American money, no doubt."
"Certainly, Monsieur. Anything less than twenty dollars."
"Not twenty dollars, cabby? What a country! We are not in Nevada, evidently. Well, my friend, this is unfortunate. What are we to do?"