"Did he move away?"
But the horse was already in motion, and the youth had darted after, leaping to the side of the seat and calling back something which Barstow could not hear.
Shelby, who had given the town everything he could, had even endowed it with a ruins.
When Barstow had reached the hotel again he went in to his supper. A head waitress, chewing gum, took him to a table where a wildly coiffed damsel brought him a bewildering array of most undesirable foods in a flotilla of small dishes.
After supper Barstow, following the suit of the other guests, took a chair on the sidewalk, for a little breeze loafed along the hot street. Barstow's name had been seen upon the hotel register and the executive committee of the Wide-a-Wakefield Club waited upon him in an august body.
Mr. Pettibone introduced himself and the others. They took chairs and hitched them close to Barstow, while they poured out in alternate strains the advantages of Wakefield. Barstow listened politely, but the empty factory and the dismantled home of Shelby haunted him and made a dismal background to their advertisements.
It was of the factory that he spoke first:
"The building you wrote me about and offered me rent-free looks a little small and out of date for our plant. I saw Shelby's factory empty. Could I rent that at a reasonable figure, do you suppose?"
The committee leaped at the idea with enthusiasm. Spate laughed through his beard:
"Lord, I reckon the company would rent it to you for almost the price of the taxes."