“I say,” repeated Phinney, “that Olive looks sort of worn out and—”
“Has she heard from the Omaha cousin yet?” interrupted the depot master.
“No; Mr. Hilton says not. Sol, what DO you s'pose—”
But Captain Sol had risen and gone into the ticket office. The door closed behind him. Mr. Phinney shook his head and walked out of the building. On his way back to the scene of the house moving he shook his head several times.
On the afternoon of the ninth Captain Bailey Stitt and his friend Wingate came to say good-by. Stitt was going back to Orham on the “up” train, due at 3:30. Barzilla would return to Wellmouth and the Old Home House on the evening (the “down”) train.
“Hey, Sol!” shouted Wingate, as they entered the waiting room. “Sol! where be you?”
The depot master came out of the ticket office. “Hello, boys!” he said shortly.
“Hello, Sol!” hailed Stitt. “Barzilla and me have come to shed the farewell tear. As hirelin's of soulless corporations, meanin' the Old Home House at Wellmouth and the Ocean House at Orham, we've engaged all the shellfish along-shore and are goin' to clear out.”
“Yes,” chimed in his fellow “hireling,” “and we thought the pleasantest place to put in our few remainin' hours—as the papers say when a feller's goin' to be hung—was with you.”
“I thought so,” said Captain Bailey, with a wink. “We've been havin' more or less of an argument, Sol. Remember how Barzilla made fun of Jonadab Wixon for believin' in dreams? Yes, well that was only make believe. He believes in 'em himself.”