Galusha the Magnificent | Page 6

should have been reassuring, but it did not appear to be. Mr. Pulcifer's passenger drew a startled breath.
"What--WHAT is his Christian name?" he asked. "The--the Mr. Hall who lives here?"
"His name is-- Why? What's the matter?"
"I'm afraid there has been a mistake. Is this Mr. Hall an entomologist?"
"Eh? He ain't nothin' in particular. Don't go to meetin' much, Josh don't. His wife's a Spiritu'list."
"But--but, I mean-- Dear me, dear me!" Mr. Bangs was fumbling in the inside pocket of his coat. "If I-- Would you mind holding this for me?" he begged. "I have a photograph here and-- Oh, thank you very much."
He handed Pulcifer a small pocket electric lamp. Raish held it and into its inch of light Mr. Bangs thrust a handful of cards and papers taken from a big and worn pocketbook. One of the handful was a postcard with a photograph upon its back. It was a photograph of a pretty, old-fashioned colonial house with a wide porch covered with climbing roses. Beneath was written: "This is our cottage. Don't you think it attractive?"
"Mrs. Hall sent me that--ah--last June--I think it was in June," explained Mr. Bangs, hurriedly. "But you SEE," he added, waving an agitated hand toward the gray-shingled dwelling beneath the silver- leafs, "that CAN'T be the house, not if"--with a wave of the photograph in the other hand--"if THIS is."
Mr. Pulcifer took the postcard and stared at it. His brows drew together in a frown.
"Say," he said, turning toward his passenger, "is this the house you've been tryin' to find? This is a picture of the old Parker place over to Wellmouth Centre. I thought you told me you wanted to be took to Joshua Hall's house in East Wellmouth."
"Joshua? Oh, no, I'm sure I never could have said Joshua. That isn't his name."
"Then when I said 'Josh Hall' why didn't you say so?"
"Oh, good gracious! Did you say 'Josh?' Oh, dear, that explains it; I thought you said 'George.' My friend's name is George Hall. He is an entomologist at the New York Museum of Natural History. I--"
"Say," broke in Raish, again, "is he a tall, bald-headed man with whiskers; red whiskers?"
"Yes--yes, he is."
"Humph! Goes gallopin' round the fields chasin' bugs and grasshoppers like a young one?"
"Why--why, entomology is his profession, so naturally he--"
"Humph! So THAT'S the feller! Tut, tut, tut! Well, if you'd only said you meant him 'twould have been all right. I forgot there was a Hall livin' in the Parker place. If you'd said you meant 'Old Bughouse' I'd have understood."
"Bughouse?"
"Oh, that's what the Wellmouth post-office gang call him. Kind of a joke 'tis. And say, this is kind of a joke, too, my luggin' you 'way over here, ain't it, eh? Haw, haw!"
Mr. Bangs' attempt at a laugh was feeble.
"But what shall I do now?" he asked, anxiously.
"Well, that's the question, ain't it? Hum . . . hum . . . let's see. Sorry I can't take you back to the Centre myself. Any other night I'd be glad to, but there's a beans and brown-bread supper and sociable up to the meetin' house this evenin' and I promised the old woman--Mrs. Pulcifer, I mean--that I'd be on hand. I'm a little late as 'tis. Hum . . . let's see . . . Why, I tell you. See that store over on the corner there? That's Erastus Beebe's store and Ras is a good friend of mine. He's got an extry horse and team and he lets 'em out sometimes. You step into the store and ask Ras to hitch up and drive you back to the Centre. Tell him I sent you. Say you're a friend of Raish Pulcifer's and that I said treat you right. Don't forget: 'Raish says treat me right.' You say that to Ras and you'll be TREATED right. Yes, SIR! If Ras ain't in the store he'll be in his house right back of it. Might as well get out here, Mr. Bangs, because there's a hill just ahead and I kind of like to get a runnin' start for it. Shall I help you with the suitcase? No, well, all right . . . Sorry you made the mistake, but we're all liable to make 'em some time or another. Eh? haw, haw!"
Poor Mr. Bangs clambered from the automobile almost as wearily and stiffly as he had climbed into it. The engine of the Pulcifer car had not stopped running so Raish was not obliged to get out and crank. He took a fresh grip on the steering wheel and looked down upon his late passenger.
"Well, good-night, Mr. Bangs," he said.
"Good-night--ah--good-night, Mr. Pulcifer. I'm very much obliged to you, I am indeed. I'm sorry my mistake made you so much trouble."
"Oh, that's all right, that's all right. Don't say