The Portygee | Page 6

reached the station the boy had tossed away the cigarette, picked up the suitcase, and was waiting. Now he strode into the lantern light.
"Here I am," he answered, trying hard not to appear too eager. "Were you looking for me?"
The holder of the lantern tucked the reins between the whip-socket and the dash and climbed out of the buggy. He was a little man, perhaps about forty-eight or fifty, with a smooth-shaven face wrinkled at the corners of the mouth and eyes. His voice was the most curious thing about him; it was high and piping, more like a woman's than a man's. Yet his words and manner were masculine enough, and he moved and spoke with a nervous, jerky quickness.
He answered the question promptly. "Guess I be, guess I be," he said briskly. "Anyhow, I'm lookin' for a boy name of--name of-- My soul to heavens, I've forgot it again, I do believe! What did you say your name was?"
"Speranza. Albert Speranza."
"Sartin, sartin! Sper--er--um--yes, yes. Knew it just as well as I did my own. Well, well, well! Ye-es, yes, yes. Get right aboard, Alfred. Let me take your satchel."
He picked up the suitcase. The boy, his foot upon the buggy step, still hesitated. "Then you're--you're not my grandfather?" he faltered.
"Eh? Who? Your grandfather? Me? He, he, he!" He chuckled shrilly. "No, no! No such luck. If I was Cap'n Lote Snow, I'd be some older'n I be now and a dum sight richer. Yes, yes. No, I'm Cap'n Lote's bookkeeper over at the lumber consarn. He's got a cold, and Olive--that's his wife--she said he shouldn't come out to-night. He said he should, and while they was Katy-didin' back and forth about it, Rachel--Mrs. Ellis--she's the hired housekeeper there--she telephoned me to harness up and come meet you up here to the depot. Er--er--little mite late, wan't I?"
"Why, yes, just a little. The other man, the one who drives the mail cart--I think that was what it was--said perhaps the horse was sick, or something like that."
"No-o, no, that wan't it this time. I--er-- All tucked in and warm enough, be you? Ye-es, yes, yes. No, I'm to blame, I shouldn't wonder. I stopped at the--at the store a minute and met one or two of the fellers, and that kind of held me up. All right now? Ye-es, yes, yes. G'long, gal."
The buggy moved away from the platform. Its passenger, his chilly feet and legs tightly wrapped in the robes, drew a breath of relief between his chattering teeth. He was actually going somewhere at last; whatever happened, morning would not find him propped frozen stiff against the scarred and mangy clapboards of the South Harniss station.
"Warm enough, be you?" inquired his driver cheerfully.
"Yes, thank you."
"That's good, that's good, that's good. Ye-es, yes, yes. Well-- er-- Frederick, how do you think you're goin' to like South Harniss?"
The answer was rather non-committal. The boy replied that he had not seen very much of it as yet. His companion seemed to find the statement highly amusing. He chuckled and slapped his knee.
"Ain't seen much of it, eh? No-o, no, no. I guess you ain't, guess you ain't. He, he, he . . . Um . . . Let's see, what was I talkin' about?"
"Why, nothing in particular, I think, Mr.--Mr.--"
"Didn't I tell you my name? Sho, sho! That's funny. My name's Keeler--Laban B. Keeler. That's my name and bookkeeper is my station. South Harniss is my dwellin' place--and I guess likely you'll have to see the minister about the rest of it. He, he, he!"
His passenger, to whom the old schoolbook quatrain was entirely unknown, wondered what on earth the man was talking about. However, he smiled politely and sniffed with a dawning suspicion. It seemed to him there was an unusual scent in the air, a spirituous scent, a--
"Have a peppermint lozenger," suggested Mr. Keeler, with sudden enthusiasm. "Peppermint is good for what ails you, so they tell me. Ye-es, yes, yes. Have one. Have two, have a lot."
He proceeded to have a lot himself, and the buggy was straightway reflavored, so to speak. The boy, his suspicions by no means dispelled, leaned back in the corner behind the curtains and awaited developments. He was warmer, that was a real physical and consequently a slight mental comfort, but the feeling of lonesomeness was still acute. So far his acquaintanceship with the citizens of South Harniss had not filled him with enthusiasm. They were what he, in his former and very recent state of existence, would have called "Rubes." Were the grandparents whom he had never met this sort of people? It seemed probable. What sort of a place was this to which Fate had consigned him? The sense of utter helplessness which had had him in its clutches