The man behind the bar informed him, while drawing the ale from a faucet in the wall, and Nick took a chair at a window overlooking the grounds back of the house and the broad curve of the river.
His view of it was partly obstructed, however, by the old stable and other outbuildings. A path near them led down to a narrow, wooden float, or landing, to which a motor launch was made fast.
“You are Mr. Dugan, I take it?” Nick remarked to the man who was serving him.
“That’s right,” was the reply, with a nod.
“I read your name on the sign.”
“I have run this place for a dozen years.”
“Some distance from town, aren’t you?”
“Not too far for my business,” said Dugan, returning to wipe the bar. “There are some houses above here a piece, but I get most of my coin from parties who drive out from town.[Pg 22]”
“Sort of a road house, isn’t it?”
“That’s what.”