"Who makes these maps, I wonder?" bristled Zenas Henry. "Some numskull who ain't traveled none, I'll bet a hat. Why don't he go round an' see what places there is 'fore he starts map-makin'? Why, any one of us knows more 'bout the job already than he does. We know there's Belleport, an' Wilton, an' Alton City."
"Bet you couldn't tell what state Alton City is in, though, Zenas Henry," Silas challenged.
"Alton City? Let me think! Alton City!" Thoughtfully he stroked his chin. "'Tain't my business to know where 'tis," he presently sputtered. "If everybody knew where all the blasted places in the country were, what use would they have for maps? 'Twould put the map-makin' folks clean out of business."
"If map-makers don't know where Wilton an' Belleport are they'd better be out of business, in my opinion," countered Benjamin Todd. "Say, Ephraim," he exclaimed, inspired by a bright idea, "you're the mail carrier. You'd oughter be primed on the location of places. Where's Alton City?"
"Alton City? Hanged if I know. To hear you talk, anybody'd think 'twas my job to tote round the country deliverin' letters in person at the doors of every house in the United States."
"But you must have some notion 'bout geography. Ain't you got no pocket atlas nor nothin'?"
"I may have a small map somewheres; I carry most everything," Ephraim grinned. With deliberation, he began to disgorge upon the counter the contents of his many pockets.
There was a tangle of pink string; two stumpy pencils without points; a fragment of fish-line; a soiled scrap of court-plaster; a box of matches; a plug of tobacco; a red bandanna handkerchief; three cough-drops, moist and sticky; several screws; a worn tube of paste; a jack-knife.
"My soul, Eph!" ejaculated Zenas Henry. "You're a reg'lar travelin' junk shop, ain't you?"
"I have to have things by me."