“Is that it?” he asked, in much the same tone that Mrs. Noah may have used when her husband announced that the lookout had sighted Ararat.
Raish Pulcifer nodded. “Yes, sir,” he declared, proudly. “Yes, sir, that's East Wellmouth.”
The fog in the valley was thicker even than that upon the hill and East Wellmouth was almost invisible. Mr. Bangs made out a few houses, a crossroads, a small store, and that was about all. From off to the right a tremendous bellow sounded. The fog seemed to quiver with it.
“WHAT is that?” asked Mr. Bangs, nervously. “I've heard it ever since I left the train, I believe. Some sort of a—ah—steam whistle, isn't it?”
“Foghorn over to the light,” replied Raish, briskly. “Well, sir, here you be.”
The car rolled up to the side of the road and stopped.
“Here you be, Mr. Bangs,” repeated Mr. Pulcifer. “Here's where Hall lives, right here.”
Mr. Bangs seemed somewhat astonished. “Right here?” he asked. “Dear me, is it possible!”
“Possible as anything ever you knew in your life. Why not? Ain't sorry, are you?”
“Oh, no—no, indeed, I'm very glad. I was—ah—a trifle surprised, that is all. You said—I think you spoke of Mr. Hall's cottage as being—ah—off the track and so I—well I scarcely expected to reach his house so easily.”