“My mistake!” laughed Hemingwood.
“I wonder if you could give me some information. I expect to be in your village, or above it, for a few days, taking pictures of this flock of mountains. If they rolled Kentucky out flat it would be bigger than Texas.”
She laughed aloud this time. Her face had an out-of-doors look about it, just a hint of golden tan and red cheeks with the color underneath the skin instead of on top of it.
“The main things I want to know are as follows: where can my trusty sergeant and myself procure beds and boards for ourselves? And is there any garage in town where we can buy gasoline and oil?”
“That last remark is an insult!” she said severely. “I ought to ride off and leave you standing here after that insinuation against East Point. However, you’re a stranger. My uncle has practically the only store in East Point. He sells gasoline and oil.”
“He must be a good business man, judging by his choice of salesmen,” commented Hemingwood.
“That’s the secret of his success,” she confided smilingly. “About the boarding house, I don’t know. We have no regular hotel or even boarding house, but I guess my uncle could tell you where to go.”
“And your uncle’s name is—”
“Mumford. You can’t miss the store. There’s a big sign on it.”
“Do you think you could stand it if I introduced myself?” enquired Hemingwood.