“Eh? Someone to see me? Guess you’ve made a mistake, haven’t you, Commodore? I don’t know anybody who’d be likely to come visitin’ me here in New York. Why, yes! Well, I declare! Tell him to walk right in. Mr. Pearson, I’m glad to see you. This is real neighborly.”
The caller was young Pearson, the captain’s acquaintance of the previous forenoon. They shook hands heartily.
“Perhaps you didn’t think I should accept that invitation of yours, Captain Warren,” observed Pearson. “I told you I meant it when I said yes. And calling within thirty-six hours is pretty good proof, isn’t it?”
“Suits me fust-rate. I’m mighty glad you came. Set right down. Lonesome at the boardin’ house, was it?”
Pearson made a grimace. “Lonesome!” he repeated. “Ugh! Let’s talk of something else. Were you in time for your appointment yesterday noon?”
“Why, yes; I was and I wasn’t. Say, won’t you have a cigar? That’s right. And I s’pose, bein’ as this is New York, I’d ought to ask you to take somethin’ to lay the dust, hey? I ain’t made any inquiries myself, but I shouldn’t wonder if the Commodore—the feller that let you in—could find somethin’ in the spare room closet or somewheres, if I ask him.”
The young man laughed. “If you mean a drink,” he said, “I don’t care for it, thank you.”
“What? You ain’t a teetotaler, are you?”
“No, not exactly. But—”
“But you can get along without it, hey? So can I; generally do, fur’s that goes. But I’m from South Denboro. I thought here in New York—”