Captain Eri took his lantern from the floor of the wagon and held it up. He had seen the stranger when the latter left the train, but he had not heard the dialogue with Josiah Bartlett.
“How was you cal'latin' to go to the station?” he asked.
“Why, I intended to walk.”
“Did you tell them fellers at the depot that you wanted to walk?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, I swan! And they give you the direction?”
“Yes,” a little impatiently; “why shouldn't they? So many blocks till I got to the main street, or road, and so many more, till I got somewhere else, and then straight on.”
“Blocks, hey? That's Joe Bartlett. That boy ought to be mastheaded, and I've told Perez so more'n once. Well, Mister, I guess maybe you'd better not try to walk to the cable station to-night. You see, there's one thing they forgot to tell you. The station's on the outer beach, and there's a ha'f mile of pretty wet water between here and there.”
The young man whistled. “You don't mean it!” he exclaimed.
“I sartin do, unless there's been an almighty drought since I left the house. I tell you what! If you'll jump in here with me, and don't mind waitin' till I leave these barrels at the house of the man that owns 'em, I'll drive you down to the shore and maybe find somebody to row you over. That is,” with a chuckle, “if you ain't dead set on walkin'.”