“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
She stood watching him as he rode down the lane; and she was still watching him when he turned from the lane into the road.
Benson was as good as his word. Just one week later he left by stage for Columbus. From there he went to Portsmouth, still by stage, where he took a fast river packet for St. Louis. Arrived at St. Louis he first established himself at a hotel and then hunted up Gibbs, whom he finally located in a dingy room over a grocery store. A sign announced it to be a “Printing Office,” and when he had mounted a long, and exceedingly steep flight of stairs, he found himself in a small room, furnished with a desk, two chairs, and a dictionary; while in a larger room that opened off from it were presses and tables. In the far corner of the larger room he descried an inky youth who was busy setting type; to him Benson made his presence known.
“You want the colonel? Well, I'll have him here in no time.” And he stuck his head out of the open window at his elbow, and called to some one in the street below.
“Hi, there! Just step round to the licker store in the next block and ask Colonel Gibbs to step this way! Gentleman wants to see him! It's right handy for him,” he explained to the lawyer.
“So it's Colonel Gibbs?” said the latter smiling.
“Yes, sir, Colonel Gibbs.”
“Since when?” asked Benson.
The youth seemed to regard this as an excellent joke.