The stage-driver cast a withering look at the "oldest inhabitant."
"Go ter sleep," he growled. "If the man ain't crazy, would he build a fire so big that yer kin 'most feel the heat of it over here? No, sir, fur my part, he's plumb crazy. An' what's he doin' on the island; an' where's 'e come from, ennyway? Who knows 'im?" "Big Bill" paused and glared at his auditors. "Who knows 'im?" he repeated.
"Knows who, Bill Dugan?" came a quavering voice.
This time, the stage-driver paid no heed. "If that man ain't plumb crazy, I'm mistook."
"Wouldn't be the fust time," sneered Tom Sanders.
"Now, now—be good," laughed Mr. George Kimball, of Boston. "Bill, tell us something more about this mysterious old character."
The stage-driver sniffed.
"As long's ye got nothin' ter do but loaf around all day, I should think you'd know more'n me, who's got ter work fur a livin'," he growled. "Guess nobody's goin' ter ask me ter grub with 'em, so I'll git."
"I say, Bill Dugan," came a voice, "did you say some one's plumb crazy? Who's plumb crazy?"
A sort of grunt not unlike the growl of a bear sounded, and "Big Bill" Dugan was down the steps.