Galton Springle looked at the opening of this little paper from the corner of his eye and smiled to himself, for he saw that the contents were unknown to the young man. He made no observation, however, but calling for a candle, lighted his cigar and began to smoke. As he made no further offer of one to Arthur, the latter pocketed his roleau and leaned back against the wall, thinking over the past and hoping brightly for the future. There could not be more than three dollars, he thought, in the roll, but even this sum was a great deal for Snow to give, and it was so delicately given that Arthur felt truly grateful and promised thousands in return. When the cigar was finished and the reckoning paid, they proceeded on their journey till evening, when they rested again, but this time it was on a bench near the tavern door.
“If we rest awhile,” said Springle, “we shall be fresh enough to reach Drizzletown by ten o’clock, and you can then share my room, or have one to yourself if you like. There is a very decent tavern there and the charges are very moderate, so let us remain together for the night, at least.”
In half an hour they took up their baggage and went on, though poor Arthur began to flag, for he was unaccustomed to such severe exercise, whereas Springle seemed as light of foot as when they first met. By ten, however, they reached Drizzletown, and as the moon was at the full, Arthur saw a few scattered houses, without any attempt at regularity as it respected their position, and no appearance of a street at all.
Arthur saw that Springle was as much a stranger to the host of the little inn as he was himself, so he presumed that this was his first visit to the place, and yet the man knew the road so well, and spoke of the people residing there in so particular a manner, that he could not suppose this was his first visit. A bowl of bread and milk constituted their supper, and as Arthur preferred a room to himself, they were shown to separate chambers and retired for the night.
The young man slept soundly till eight o’clock, and when called to breakfast saw that he was alone. He was told that his companion had left the house at daylight, leaving his carpet-bag and a letter. The tavern-keeper said that in lounging about the door he had seen an acquaintance and had gone off with him. After breakfast the letter was brought, and to his surprise it was directed to himself, it ran thus—
“An unforeseen circumstance has occurred which obliges me to return to the city whence I came, and as I have plenty of clothing there, I make you a present of the carpet-bag and its contents. Do not part with the bag, however, let your necessities be ever so great, as I value it very highly, though I part with it to you. When you are settled to your liking leave your address in this house, and the man, Mr. Somers, will forward it to me.
Yours,
Galton Springle.”
“Do you know this man, this Galton Springle?” said Arthur to the landlord. “He is a stranger to me, and yet he makes me a present of this bag and all that it contains.”
The landlord did not know him, had never seen him before, and thought him the ugliest hound that ever lived—evidently envious of Arthur’s good luck, and tormenting himself with the probability of his possessing the bag himself had he known that the owner was not to return.