"Seems, too," he ventured, "as how Grattan said this Bunce was a sailor an' wore sailor clothes."
"That's the other fellow again, Pryne," Matt smiled. "You haven't got much of a memory, I guess."
"Waal, it ain't long, but it's mighty keen."
"My cracious," murmured Goldstein, "but der dust is bad. How much farther is it yet?"
"We turn at the next crossroads and pull up a hill," answered Pryne; "then we leave the hill road for a ways, an' we're there. It's my ole sugar camp. Trees is mostly played out, though, an' we don't make sugar there no more. It kinder 'pears to me like," he added, another thought striking him, "Grattan said Bunce had whiskers around his jaws."
"That's the other pal," said Matt.
"Git ap, there, Prince!" called Pryne, slapping the off horse with the gad.
"How long have you known Grattan, Pryne?" inquired Matt.
"Always, since I got married. My wife's his sister. Annaballe—that's the old woman—she's English, she is. Come over visitin' in Cairo, ten year back, an' I up and asked her to marry me. Grattan was to the weddin', an' that was the first an' only time we'd met till a few days ago. Great traveler, Grat is. He's been to Ejup, an' Rooshia, an' Chiny an' all them countries. Great traveler. Takes pictur's for these here movin'-picture machines."
Matt heard this with interest. It reminded him of another time when he had encountered a moving-picture man and had had a particularly thrilling experience. And this experience with Grattan promised to be even more thrilling.