"There must be some mistake," said the landlady in her soft Southern drawl. "Mr. Townsend's friend came to the front do', and I reckon he didn't know anything about coming to the kitchen."
"Well, have him come up, Mrs. Thomas," called Townsend. "I don't seem able to have anything as I want it. Matt not only comes to the front door, but he comes nearly an hour ahead of time. I'll see him, though. He's a sharp boy, and if he's read my letter he'll know what I expect of him."
The landlady went away.
"I want to talk with Matt alone, Cassidy," continued Townsend.
"I know that, cap'n," replied the mate, "and just as soon as Matt gets in I'll slide out and leave you to yourselves."
Another rap fell on the door. Cassidy went to it and admitted Joe Dashington, still in his old slouch hat, sweater and corduroys.
"Great guns, Motor Matt!" exclaimed Cassidy, "I'd hardly have known you in that get-up."
"Matt!" exclaimed Townsend querulously, lifting himself on one elbow and staring at the caller. "Is that you, Matt?"
"I guess I do look a Reub, eh?" laughed Dashington. "Well, I thought I'd be foxy and get on a disguise. Hope you're feeling better, Mr. Townsend?"