Galusha the Magnificent Part 3

"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-fas.h.i.+oned 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-s.h.i.+ngled 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 pa.s.senger, "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 gra.s.shoppers 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 pa.s.senger.

"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 a word...

Well--er--good-night."

"Good-night, sir... good-night."

But still the little car did not start. It's owner's next remark was explanatory of the delay.

"Course I HOPE you and I'll meet again, Mr. Bangs," said Raish. "May see you in Wellmouth, you know. Still, such things are--er--kind of uncertain and--er--sendin' bills is a nuisance, so perhaps 'twould be better--er--easier for both of us--if we settled that little matter of ours right now. Eh?"

"I beg your pardon. Little matter? I'm afraid I don't quite--"

"Oh, that little matter of the three dollars for fetchin' you over.

Course it don't amount to nothin', but I kind of like to get them little things off my mind, don't you? Eh?"

Mr. Bangs was very much "fussed." He hurriedly dragged forth the big pocketbook.

"I beg your pardon--really I BEG your pardon," he stammered over and over again. "I quite forgot. It was inexcusable of me. I'm SO sorry."

Evidently he felt that he had committed a crime. Mr. Pulcifer took the three one dollar bills and waved the apologies aside with them.

"Don't say a word, Mr. Bangs," he called, cheerily, as the car began to move. "Anybody's liable to forget. Do it myself sometimes. Well, so long. Hope to see you again one of these days. Good-night."

The flivver moved rapidly away, gaining speed as it rushed for the hill. Galusha Bangs watched its tail-light soar and dwindle until it disappeared over the crest. Then, with a weary sigh, he picked up the heavy suitcase, plodded across the road and on until he reached the step and platform of Erastus Beebe's "General and Variety Store." There was a kerosene lamp burning dimly upon the counter within, but the door was locked. He pounded on the door and shook it, but no one answered. Then, remembering Mr. Pulcifer's instructions, he entered the yard behind the store, found the door of Mr. Beebe's house and knocked upon that. There was not even a light in the house. The Beebes had gone--as most of East Wellmouth had gone--to the baked beans and brown-bread supper and sociable at the church. Galusha Bangs was not aware of this, of course.

What he was aware of--painfully, distressingly aware--was the fact that he was alone and supperless, very, very weak and tired, and almost discouraged.

However, there was no use in standing in the wet gra.s.s of the Beebe yard and giving way to his discouragement. Galusha Bangs was a plucky little soul, although just now a weak and long-suffering one. He waded and slopped back to the store platform, where he put down his suitcase and started on a short tour of exploration. Through the fog and darkness he could dimly perceive a signpost standing at the corner of the crossroad where the store was located. He tramped over to look at it.

There were two signs affixed to the post. By the aid of the pocket flashlight he read them. That at the top read thus: "TO THE LIGHTHOUSE--1 1/2 MILES." There was an arrow pointing along the crossroad and off to the right. Galusha paid little attention to this sign; it was the other nailed beneath it which caught and held his attention. It was a rather gaudy sign of red, white, and blue, and it read thus: "THE RESTABIT INN AT GOULD'S BLUFFS--1 MILE." And the arrow pointed in the same direction as the other.

Mr. Bangs uttered his favorite exclamation.

"Dear me! Why, dear me!"

He read the sign again. There was no mistake, his first reading had been correct.

He trotted back to the platform of Mr. Beebe's store. Then, once more dragging forth the big pocketbook, he fumbled in its various compartments. After spilling a good many sc.r.a.ps of paper upon the platform and stopping to pick them up again, he at length found what he was looking for. It was an advertis.e.m.e.nt torn from the Summer Resort advertising pages of a magazine. Holding it so that the feeble light from Mr. Beebe's lamp fell upon it, Galusha read, as follows:

THE RESTABIT INN at Beautiful Gould's Bluffs, East Wellmouth, Ma.s.s.

Rest, sea air, and pleasant people: Good food and plenty of it.

Reasonable prices. NO FRILLS.

He had chanced upon the advertis.e.m.e.nt in a tattered, back number magazine which a fellow pa.s.senger had left beside him in a car seat a month before. He had not quite understood the "NO FRILLS" portion.

Apparently it must be important because the advertiser had put it in capital letters, but Mr. Bangs was uncertain as to just what it meant.

But there was no uncertainty about the remainder of the "ad."

Rest! His weary muscles and aching joints seemed to relax at the very whisper of the word. Food! Well, he needed food, it would be welcome, of course--but rest! Oh, rest!!

And food and rest, not to mention reasonable prices and pleasant people and no frills, were all but a mile away at the Restabit Inn at Gould's Bluffs--beautiful Gould's Bluffs. No wonder they called them beautiful.