“Why, Reuben, how are you?” exclaimed Phil joyfully. “When did you come to town?”
“Phil Brent!” exclaimed Reuben, shaking hands heartily. “I'm thunderin' glad to see you. I was thinkin' of you only five minutes ago, and wonderin' where you hung out.”
“But you haven't told me when you came to New York.”
“Only this morning! I'm goin' to stay with a cousin of my father's, that lives in Brooklyn, over night.”
“I wanted to ask you about Mrs. Brent and Jonas. I was afraid they might be sick, for I wrote four days ago and haven't got any answer yet.”
“Where did you write to?”
“To Gresham, of course,” answered Phil, in surprise.
“You don't mean to say you hain't heard of their leavin' Gresham?” said Reuben, in evident astonishment.
“Who has left Gresham?”
“Your mother—leastwise, Mrs. Brent—and Jonas. They cleared out three weeks ago, and nobody's heard a word of them since—that is, nobody in the village.”