Galusha the Magnificent | Page 4

suppose we call it three
dollars? That's fair, ain't it?"
"Oh, yes, quite, quite. It's very reasonable. Very generous of you. I'm
extremely grateful, really."
This prompt and enthusiastic acceptance of his offer was a bit
disconcerting. Raish was rather sorry that he had not said five.
However, to do him justice, the transaction was more or less what he
would have called "chicken-feed stuff." Mr. Pulcifer was East
Wellmouth's leading broker in real estate, in cranberry bog property, its
leading promoter of deals of all kinds, its smartest trader. Ordinarily he
did not stoop to the carrying of passengers for profit. But this particular
passenger had been delivered into his hand and gasoline WAS
expensive.
"Jump right in, Mister," he said, blithely. "All aboard! Jump right in."
His fare did not jump in, exactly. He climbed in rather slowly and
painfully. Raish, stowing the suitcase between his feet, noticed that his
shoes and trouser legs above them were spattered and daubed with
yellow mud.
"You HAVE had some rough travelin', ain't you, Mister?" he observed.
"Oh--er--what did you say your name was? Mine's Pulcifer."
"Oh, yes--yes. Ah--how do you do, Mr. Pulcifer? My name is Bangs."

"Bangs, eh? That's a good Cape name, or used to be. You any relation
to Sylvanus Bangs, over to Harniss?"
"No--no, not that I am aware. Ours is a Boston branch of the family."
"Boston, eh? Um-hm. I see. Yes, yes. What's your first name?"
"Mine? Oh, my name is Galusha."
"Eh? Ga-- WHAT did you say 'twas?"
"Galusha. It IS an odd name."
"Yes, I'd say 'twas. Don't cal'late as I ever heard tell of it afore.
Ga--Ga--"
"Galusha."
"Galushy, eh? I see. Strange what names folks 'll christen onto children,
ain't it? There's lots of queer things in the world; did you ever stop to
think about that, Mister--Mister Bangs?"
Mr. Bangs, who was leaning back against the upholstered seat as if he
found the position decidedly comforting, smiled faintly.
"We have all thought that, I'm sure," he said. "'There are more things in
heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"
Mr. Pulcifer was not easily startled, but his jerk of surprise sent the car
perilously near the side of the road.
"How in the devil did you know my name?" he demanded.
"Your name? Why, you told me. It is Pulcifer, isn't it?"
"No, no. My first name--Horatio. I never told you that, I'll swear."
Mr. Bangs smiled and the smile made his face look younger.

"Now that's rather odd, isn't it?" he observed. "Quite a coincidence."
"A what?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing. I didn't know your name, Mr.--ah--Pulcifer. My
using it was an accident. I was quoting--ah--from Hamlet, you know."
Mr. Pulcifer did not know, but he thought it not worth while advertising
the fact. Plainly this passenger of his was a queer bird, as queer within
as in dress and appearance. He turned his head slightly and looked him
over. It was growing too dark to see plainly, but one or two points were
obvious. For instance, the yellow leather suitcase was brand new and
the overcoat was old. It was shiny about the cuffs. The derby hat--and
in October, in Wellmouth, derby hats are seldom worn--the derby hat
was new and of a peculiar shade of brown; it was a little too small for
its wearer's head and, even as Raish looked, a gust of wind lifted it and
would have sent it whirling from the car had not Mr. Bangs saved it by
a sudden grab. Raish chuckled.
"Come pretty nigh losin' somethin' overboard that time, didn't you?" he
observed.
Mr. Bangs pulled the brown derby as far down upon his head as it
would go.
"I--I'm afraid I made a mistake in buying this hat," he confided. "I told
the man I didn't think it fitted me as it should, but he said that was
because I wasn't used to it. I doubt if I ever become used to it. And it
really doesn't fit any better to-day than it did yesterday."
"New one, ain't it?" inquired Raish.
"Yes, quite new. My other blew out of the car window. I bought this
one at a small shop near the station in Boston. I'm afraid it wasn't a
very good shop, but I was in a great hurry."
"Where was you comin' from when your other one blew away?"

"From the mountains."
"White Mountains?"
"Yes."
Raish said that he wanted to know and waited for his passenger to say
something more. This the passenger did not do. Mr. Pulcifer whistled a
bar or two of his "Follies" song and then asked another question.
"You any relation to Josh?" he asked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Eh? Oh, that's all right. I just asked you if you was