“Thank you.” The stranger again bowed and seated himself, placing a cane across his immaculately clad legs and balancing a somewhat square derby hat perilously atop. “I begin by offering you my apologies for this intrusion,” he continued.
“Not necessary,” mumbled Laurie, his gaze busy with the guest. The latter appeared to be about fifty, was under rather than over average height, and was very broad and thick and, like his derby, rather square of contour. He even had a distinctly square face which began very high up, because of the disappearance of what hair may have adorned the front of his head at one time, and ended in an auxiliary chin. He wore a very black mustache whose ends were waxed to sharp points. His eyes were quite as black and almost as sharp as his mustache. He looked foreign, and, indeed spoke with more than a trace of accent, but he was evidently a gentleman, and he impressed the boys very favorably.
“With your permission,” he continued, “I will introduce myself.” He regarded Laurie. “I have the honor of addressing Mr. Laurie Turner?” Laurie nodded. The guest carefully secured hat and stick, arose, and bowed deeply. “I,” he announced then, “am Mr. Goupil.”
For an instant silence ensued. Then, “Mister—I beg your pardon,” said Laurie, “but did you say Goupil?”
“Goupil,” confirmed the gentleman, bowing again and smiling very nicely.
“You mean,” stammered Laurie, “the Mr. Goupil? Of Sioux City? Miss Comfort’s Mr. Goupil?”
“Surely.”
“Why—why, then,” exclaimed Laurie, “I’m mighty glad to meet you, sir.” He stepped forward with outstretched hand, and Mr. Goupil enfolded it in a far more capacious one. “And this is my brother Ned.” Mr. Goupil then shook hands with the amazed Ned. After that they all sat down. Mr. Goupil arranged stick and hat with precision, cleared his throat, and began:
“My dear sister-in-law has told me of your most kind efforts in her behalf, and I have presented myself to make explanation and to add my expressions of gratitude.” Mr. Goupil spoke rather deliberately and seemed to choose his words with care. “That your telegram received no response is a matter of extreme regret. Yet, when I inform you that it never reached me, you will, of a certainty, exonerate me from discourtesy, Mr. Laurie.”
“Why, surely,” agreed Laurie eagerly. “We had already found out that the telegram was delivered to the wrong person, sir.”