To Mrs. Lansdale’s unaffected regret, and amazement as well, the gentleman returned the following morning to say that he was about to leave for New York, but that he would actually pay one hundred and seventy-eight dollars for the stuff.  This was at least twenty-two dollars more than it could possibly be worth, but the gentleman had an unfortunate passion for such things.  Miss Caroline bowed, and called Clem as she left the room.

The gentleman returned the morning of the third day to close the deal.  He said he had missed his train on the previous day, and being a superstitious man he regarded that as an augury of evil.  Nevertheless he had resolved to take the stuff even at a price that was ruinous.  He unfolded two hundred dollars in the presence of Clem, and wished to know if he might send a wagon at once.  Clem brought back word from Miss Caroline, who had declined to appear, that the strange gentleman would oblige her by ceasing his remarkable intrusions.  Whereupon the gentleman had said:  “Oh, very well!  Then I go!”

But he went no farther than the City Hotel; and here one may note a further contrivance of indirection on the part of our attending Fates.

From the evening train of that day the ’bus brought another strange gentleman, of an Eastern manner, but somewhat neater of dress than the first one and speaking with an accent much less obtrusive.  This gentleman wrote “James Walsingham Price, N.Y.,” on the register, called for a room with a bath, ordered “coffee and rolls” to be sent there at eight-thirty the next morning, and then asked to see the “dinner card.”

After mine host, Jake Kilburn, had been made to understand what “dinner card” meant, he made Mr. James Walsingham Price understand that there was no dinner card.  This being clear at last, the newcomer said:  “Oh, very well!  Then just give my order to the head-waiter, will you—­there’s a good chap—­a cup of consomme, a bit of fish, a bird of some sort, broiled, I fancy,—­er—­potatoes au gratin, a green salad of some kind,—­serve that with the bird,—­a piece of Camembert, if it’s in good condition, any entremet you have and a demi-tasse.  I’ll mix the salad dressing myself, tell him,—­oh, yes—­and a pint of Chambertin if you’ve something you can recommend.”

Billy Durgin, scrutinizing the newcomer in a professional way, told me afterwards that Jake Kilburn “batted his eyes” during this strange speech and replied to it, “like a man coming to”—­“supper in twenty minutes,” after which he pounded a bell furiously and then himself showed his new and puzzling guest to a room—­but not a room “with a bath,” be it understood, for a most excellent reason.