The dull face of the storekeeper brightened.
“That’s right! Come to think of it, I do remember. That cracked peddler, Dan Larkin, give it to me. I recollect because I noticed that big black blot on it at the time.”
Billie’s heart pounded so loudly she was afraid the storekeeper must hear it. She controlled her excitement sufficiently to ask in a quiet voice:
“Who, if you please, is Dan Larkin?”
“I just told you,” said the man peering at her over his spectacles. “Dan Larkin’s a queer old chap who keeps a store on wheels. He goes about, stopping at various places and selling things on the way.”
“A traveling store,” echoed Billie, fighting against disappointment. “Then he isn’t here any more?”
“Reckon he is,” said the storekeeper carelessly. He had evidently lost interest in the subject. “Dan give me that bill only this morning. He’ll probably stick around town all the rest of to-day, anyway.”
Billie’s hopes soared again.
“I’d consider it a great favor,” she said, with her very best smile, “if you could tell me where I am likely to find this—this Dan Larkin.”
“He generally parks his van right outside the town limits near the Derry farm. Folks generally know when he’s there and go to buy of him.”