Galusha the Magnificent | Page 5

a relation of
Josh's--of Hall's, I mean, the folks you're goin' to see."
"Oh, no, no. We are not related. Merely friends."
"I see. I thought there wan't any Bangses in that family. His wife was a
Cahoon, wan't she?"
"I--I BEG your pardon?"
"I asked you if she wan't a Cahoon; Cahoon was her name afore she
married Hall, wan't it?"
"Oh, I don't know, I'm sure. . . . Now, really, that's very funny, very."
"What's funny?"
"Why, you see, I--" Mr. Bangs had an odd little way of pausing in the
middle of a sentence and then, so to speak, catching the train of his
thought with a jerk and hurrying on again. "I understood you to ask if
she was a--a cocoon. I could scarcely believe my ears. It WAS funny,
wasn't it?"
Raish Pulcifer thought it was and said so between roars. His conviction
that his passenger was a queer bird was strengthening every minute.

"What's your line of business, Mr. Bangs?" was his next question.
"I am not a business man. I am connected with the Archaeological
Department of the National Institute at Washington."
If he had said he was connected with the interior department of a
Brontosaurus the statements would have conveyed an equal amount of
understanding to the Pulcifer mind. However, it was a fixed principle
with Raish never to admit a lack of knowledge of any subject
whatsoever. So he said:
"From Washin'ton, eh? I see. Yes, yes. Cal'latin' to stay here on the
Cape long, Mr. Bangs?"
"Why, I don't know, I'm sure. I have not been--ah--well of late. The
doctors advise rest and--ah--outdoor air and all that. I tried several
places, but I didn't care for them. The Halls invited me to visit them and
so I--well, I came."
"Never been here to the Cape afore, then?"
"No."
"Well, sir, you've come to the right place when you came to Wellmouth.
I was born right here in East Wellmouth and I've lived here for
fifty-two year and if anybody should ask me what I thought of the place
I'd tell 'em--"
He proceeded to tell what he would tell 'em. It was a favorite topic with
him, especially in the summer and with visitors from the city. Usually
the discourse ended with a suggestion that if the listener should ever
think of investing a little money in real estate "that'll be wuth gold
dollars to you--yes, sir, gold dollars--" he, Horatio G. Pulcifer, would
be willing to point out and exhibit just the particular bit of real estate to
invest in. He did not reach the climax this time, however. A gentle
nasal sound at his shoulder caused Raish to turn his head. Mr. Bangs
had fallen asleep. Awakened by a vigorous nudge, he apologized
profusely.

"Really," he declared, with much embarrassment, "I--I am quite
ashamed of myself. I--you see--I have, as I say, been somewhat unwell
of late, and the fatigue of walking--I DO hope you will excuse me. I
was very much interested in what you were saying. What--ah--what
was it?"
Before Raish could have repeated his real estate sermon, even had he so
desired, the car came to the top of a hill, emerged from the clumps of
pines shutting in the road on both sides, and began to descend a long
slope. And through the fog and blackness at the foot of the slope there
shone dimly first one and then several lights. Mr. Bangs leaned forward
and peered around the edge of the wet windshield.
"Is that it?" he asked, in much the same tone that Mrs. Noah may have
used when her husband announced that the lookout had sighted Ararat.
Raish Pulcifer nodded. "Yes, sir," he declared, proudly. "Yes, sir, that's
East Wellmouth."
The fog in the valley was thicker even than that upon the hill and East
Wellmouth was almost invisible. Mr. Bangs made out a few houses, a
crossroads, a small store, and that was about all. From off to the right a
tremendous bellow sounded. The fog seemed to quiver with it.
"WHAT is that?" asked Mr. Bangs, nervously. "I've heard it ever since
I left the train, I believe. Some sort of a--ah--steam whistle, isn't it?"
"Foghorn over to the light," replied Raish, briskly. "Well, sir, here you
be."
The car rolled up to the side of the road and stopped.
"Here you be, Mr. Bangs," repeated Mr. Pulcifer. "Here's where Hall
lives, right here."
Mr. Bangs seemed somewhat astonished. "Right here?" he asked. "Dear
me, is it possible!"

"Possible as anything ever you knew in your life. Why not? Ain't sorry,
are you?"
"Oh, no--no, indeed, I'm very glad. I was--ah--a trifle surprised, that is
all. You said--I think you spoke of Mr. Hall's cottage as being--ah--off
the track and so