Galusha the Magnificent | Page 6

I--well I scarcely expected to reach his house so
easily."
Raish had forgotten his "off the track" statement, which was purely a
commercial fiction invented on the spur of the moment to justify the
high price he was charging for transportation. He was somewhat taken
aback, but before he could think of a good excuse his companion spoke
again. He was leaning forward, peering out at the house before which
the car had stopped. It was a small, gray- shingled dwelling, sitting
back from the road in the shadow of two ancient "silver-leafs," and Mr.
Bangs seemed to find its appearance surprising.
"Are you--are you SURE this is the Hall cottage?" he stammered.
"Am I sure? Me? Well, I ought to be. I've lived in East Wellmouth all
my life and Josh Hall's lived in this house ever since I can remember."
This 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