“What’s the matter, Cap’n?” demanded the other. “Broke loose from your moorin’s, have you? Did you ever see such a night in your life?”
The man in the ulster shook hands with each of his questioners, removing a pair of wet, heavy leather gloves as he did so.
“Don’t know’s I ever did, Dan,” he answered. “Couldn’t see much of this one but its color—and that’s black. I come over this mornin’ to attend to some business at the court-house—deeds to some cranberry bog property I just bought—and Judge Baxter made me go home with him to dinner. Stayed at his house all the afternoon, and then his man, Ezra Hallett, undertook to drive me up here to the depot. Talk about blind pilotin’! Whew! The Judge’s horse was a new one, not used to the roads, Ezra’s near-sighted, and I couldn’t use my glasses ’count of the rain. Let alone that, ’twas darker’n the fore-hold of Noah’s ark. Ho, ho! Sometimes we was in the ruts and sometimes we was in the bushes. I told Ez we’d ought to have fetched along a dipsy lead, then maybe we could get our bearin’s by soundin’s. ‘Couldn’t see ’em if we did get ’em,’’ says he. ‘No,’ says I, ‘but we could taste ’em. Man that’s driven through as much Ostable mud as you have ought to know the taste of every road in town.’”
“Well, you caught the train, anyhow,” observed Dan.
“Yup. If we’d been crippled as well as blind we could have done that.” He seated himself just in front of the pair and glanced across the aisle at Mr. Graves, to find the latter looking intently at him.
“Pretty tough night,” he remarked, nodding.
“Yes,” replied the lawyer briefly. He did not encourage conversation with casual acquaintances. The latest arrival had caught his attention because there was something familiar about him. It seemed to Graves that he must have seen him before; and yet that was very improbable. This was the attorney’s first visit to Cape Cod, and he had already vowed devoutly that it should be his last. He turned a chilling shoulder to the trio opposite and again consulted the time-table. Denboro was the next station; then—thank the Lord—South Denboro, his destination.
Conversation across the aisle was brisk, and its subjects were many and varied. Mr. Graves became aware, more or less against his will, that the person called “Cap’n” was, if not a leader in politics and local affairs, still one whose opinions counted. Some of those opinions, as given, were pointed and dryly descriptive; as, for instance, when a certain town-meeting candidate was compared to a sculpin—“with a big head that sort of impresses you, till you get close enough to realize it has to be big to make room for so much mouth.” Graves, who was fond of salt water fishing, knew what a sculpin was, and appreciated the comparison.
The conductor entered the car and stopped to collect a ticket from his new passenger. It was evident that he, too, was acquainted with the latter.
“Evening, Cap’n,” he said, politely. “Train’s a little late to-night.”