“Sure,” agreed Hanson cordially; and this time his smile was genuinely expressive of his thankful and undisguised relief.  By what seemed to him an almost incredible piece of good luck, considering the mutual predilection of Mrs. Gallito and Jimmy for gossip, his secret was still intact.

He straightened up involuntarily, and stood a moment deep in thought, his unseeing gaze fixed on a row of bottles on a shelf behind Jimmy.  He picked up an apple which Jimmy had left on the bar and turned it around in his hands, apparently considering the effect of its scarlet stripes on a green surface.  Then he threw back his shoulders and laughed aloud.  “Bill Jones left a peckful of luscious apples in ye editorial sanctum to-day,” he said gaily.  “Come again, Bill,” and laying the fruit down, turned away, Jimmy’s delighted chuckles following him to the door and beyond.

Outside, he hesitated a moment, and then turned in the direction of the little railroad station.  Seeing him, the weedy youth who acted as agent brought his chair, tilted back at an almost impossible angle, to the earth, took his feet down from a table, laid aside an old and battered magazine and expressed devout gratitude to heaven that any one should relieve what he was pleased to term his solitary confinement.

Hanson took the chair pushed toward him and for nearly an hour discussed events in the outside world, and the various phases of his profession in what the agent found a most entertaining manner.  Finally he looked at his watch, murmured something about an engagement and rose to go.  “Well,” he said at parting, “I expect the next time I see you I’ll be buying a ticket.”

“Going to leave us soon?” asked the youth regretfully.

“Not to-day,” smiled the manager, “but soon.  Oh, by the way, now I think of it—­is there a train goes straight from here to Colina?”

“Not straight.  You got to change twice; once at the junction and once at the branch.”

“And what kind of a place is there to stay at?  Any hotel?”

“I don’t know.  Not much of one, I guess.  Gallito would know.  But he’s got his own cabin, ain’t he?  That’s so.  Why don’t you ask Bob Flick?  He’s just been up there.  I sold him a ticket the other day, and he got back on the train yesterday evening.  Thanks,” taking the cigar Hanson offered.  “So long.”

With his suspicions thus definitely confirmed, Hanson wasted no time in following his inclinations and seeking the Pearl in her own home, but his delay had cost him a word with her, and he did not arrive at the Gallito house until after she and Bob Flick had left.  This was the first untoward event in a successful morning, but he concealed his chagrin and, with his usual adaptability to circumstances, exerted himself to be agreeable to Mrs. Gallito, not without hope of gaining more or less valuable information.