“Er—er—evenin', Cap'n Sol,” he stammered. “Nice, seasonable weather, ain't it? Been a nice day.”
“Um,” grunted the depot master, knocking the ashes from his cigar.
“Just right for workin' outdoor,” continued Cornelius.
“I guess it must be. I saw your wife rakin' the yard this mornin'.”
Phinney doubled up with a chuckle. Mr. Rowe swallowed hard. “I—I TOLD her I'd rake it myself soon's I got time,” he sputtered.
“Um. Well, I s'pose she realized your time was precious. Evenin', Sim, glad to see you.”
He held out his hand and Phinney grasped it.
“Issy,” said Captain Sol, “you'd better get busy with the broom, hadn't you. It's standin' over in that corner and I wouldn't wonder if it needed exercise. Sim, the train ain't due for twenty minutes yet. That gives us at least three quarters of an hour afore it gets here. Come outside a spell. I want to talk to you.”
He led the way to the platform, around the corner of the station, and seated himself on the baggage truck. That side of the building, being furthest from the street, was out of view from the post office and “general store.”
“What was it you wanted to talk about, Sol?” asked Simeon, sitting down beside his friend on the truck.