CHAPTER IV.

IN WHICH JIM FENTON APPLIES FOR LODGINGS AT TOM BUFFUM’S BOARDING-HOUSE, AND FINDS HIS OLD FRIEND.

As Jim walked up to the door of the building occupied by Tom Buffum’s family, he met the head of the family coming out; and as, hitherto, that personage has escaped description, it will be well for the reader to make his acquaintance.  The first suggestion conveyed by his rotund figure was, that however scantily he furnished his boarders, he never stinted himself in the matter of food.  He had the sluggish, clumsy look of a heavy eater.  His face was large, his almost colorless eyes were small, and, if one might judge by the general expression of his features, his favorite viand was pork.  Indeed, if the swine into which the devils once entered had left any descendants, it would be legitimate to suppose that the breed still thrived in the most respectable sty connected with his establishment.  He was always hoarse, and spoke either in a whisper or a wheeze.  For this, or for some other reason not apparent, he was a silent man, rarely speaking except when addressed by a question, and never making conversation with anybody.  From the time he first started independently in the world, he had been in some public office.  Men with dirty work to do had found him wonderfully serviceable, and, by ways which it would be hard to define to the ordinary mind, he had so managed that every town and county office, in which there was any money, had been by turns in his hands.

“Well, Mr. Buffum, how fare ye?” said Jim, walking heartily up to him, and shaking his hand, his face glowing with good-nature.

Mr. Buffum’s attempt to respond to this address ended in a wheeze and a cough.

“Have ye got room for another boarder to-night?  Faith, I never expected to come to the poor-house, but here I am.  I’ll take entertainment for man or beast.  Which is the best, and which do you charge the most for?  Somebody’s got to keep me to-night, and ye’re the man to bid low.”

Buffum made no reply, but stooped down, took a sliver from a log, and began to pick his teeth.  Jim watched him with quiet amusement.  The more Mr. Buffum thought, the more furious he grew with his toothpick.

“Pretty tough old beef, wasn’t it?” said Jim, with a hearty laugh.

“You go in and see the women,” said Mr. Buffum, in a wheezy whisper.

This, to Jim, was equivalent to an honorable reception.  He had no doubt of his ability to make his way with “the women” who, he was fully aware, had been watching him all the time from the window.

To the women of Tom Buffum’s household, a visitor was a godsend.  Socially, they had lived all their lives in a state of starvation.  They knew all about Jim Fenton, and had exchanged many a saucy word with him, as he had passed their house on his journeys to and from Sevenoaks.

“If you can take up with what we’ve got,” said Mrs. Buffum suggestively.