Arthur mechanically took the letter, put it in his pocket, and raising his hat, walked out of the house, feeling certain that Mr. Crosbie was staring at him from the street door, Mrs. May from the green blinds in the parlor, and the servants from the basement window.
On his way he stopped to say good-bye to Abram Snow, who was hard at work at his desk. He was not at all surprised at the flitting, but there was one excellent trait in his character, he never intruded his advice upon any one. He wrote down his friend’s address—Berrydale—and thrusting a cigar in Arthur’s hand, they parted.
“The cars,” thought Arthur, “no cars for me, I must walk the whole distance, for a dollar will not pay the fare even.” So he stepped lightly along, no way discouraged, for he never yet had left a place—or rather, a place had never left him without his having the prospect of another. He had not gone more than two miles before he was overtaken by a singular looking man, dressed in a brown linen frock-coat and pantaloons, with a brown cap, a brown umbrella and a brown carpet-bag. He wore spectacles, had a remarkably long nose and chin, and when he came up with Arthur begged him not to walk so fast.
Arthur turned hastily to see who had accosted him so unceremoniously, and the man smiled. It was a pleasant smile certainly, but it did not accord with the peculiar style of his face, at any rate Arthur took no notice of him, and walked on.
“Why did not you put your trunk in the cars?” said the man, “you would walk much more to your satisfaction if you were not so weighed down—here, give me one end of it, and let us trudge on together; my carpet-bag is not heavy enough to incommode me.”
So saying, he caught up one end of Arthur’s trunk and on they went together; the stranger whistling carelessly, and the young man very much surprised, and somewhat amused at the oddness of the stranger’s manner and appearance.
“It is very kind in you,” said Arthur, laughing out loud, “but my little trunk is not heavy, as you perceive; I dare say your carpet-bag is of twice the weight.”
“Four times,” said the man, “but I am more used to carry heavy parcels than you are. How far are you going?”
Arthur told him, and then they fell into the common chat of strangers, and thus they proceeded till two o’clock, when both, weary enough, entered a small tavern to rest and take a luncheon. They had exchanged names on the road, and Arthur found that his new acquaintance was called Galton Springle, and that he was a schoolmaster on his way to a small school now vacant near Drizzletown. As this place lay in Arthur’s route, and the man was not offensive in his manners, our young friend was quite willing that they should proceed together.
Ham and eggs and an apple-pie made up their dinner, and as this was soon provided and soon dispatched, they still lingered on the sofa, or wooden settle rather, when Galton Springle proposed smoking. He had about a dozen cigars, in a box at the bottom of his bag, and offered one to Arthur, who refused, recollecting that his friend, Abram Snow, had given him one at parting—he took it from his pocket, but what was his surprise on opening the little roll of stiff brown paper, to find instead of a cigar, a roleau of ten cent pieces!