"No, a mixed lot—about thirty. A few Scotch and English came up on the same train. Have they applied to you?" He addressed the manager of the Company's sheds.
"No. I think they'll be along Monday. I've noticed that those two nationalities generally have relations who house and look out for them when they come. But I had an application from an American just after the train came in; I don't often have that now."
"Did you take him on?" the Colonel asked between two puffs of his Havana.
"Yes; and he went to work in Shed Number Two. I confess he puzzles me."
"What was he like?" asked the head of the Upper Quarry.
"Tall, blue eyes, gray hair, but only thirty-four as the register showed—misfit clothes—"
"That's the one—he came up in the train with me. I noticed him in the car. I don't believe he moved a muscle all the way up. I couldn't make him out, could you?"
"Well, no, I couldn't. By the way, Colonel, I noticed the name he entered was a familiar one in this part of Maine—Googe—"
"Googe!" The Colonel looked at the speaker in amazement; "did he give his first name?"
"Yes, Louis—Louis C. Googe—"