“Oh, dear me! Why, the man at the station told me—”
“What station? The Wellmouth depot, do you mean?”
“No, the—ah—the South Wellmouth station. You see, I got off the train at South Wellmouth by mistake. It was the first Wellmouth called, you know, and I—I suppose I caught the name and—ah—rushed out of the car. I thought—it seemed to be a—a sort of lonely spot, you know—”
“Haw, haw! South Wellmouth depot? It's worse'n lonesome, it's God-forsaken.”
“Yes—yes, it looked so. I should scarcely conceive of the Almighty's wishing to remain there long.”
“Eh?”
“Oh, it's not material. Pardon me. I inquired of the young man in charge of the—ah—station.”
“Nelse Howard? Yes, sure.”
“You know him, then?”
Mr. Pulcifer laughed. “Say,” he observed, patronizingly, “there's mighty few folks in this neighborhood I don't know. You bet that's right!”