“But you’ve got to have a selectmen’s permit to move—­”

“Got it.  I went up and saw the chairman an hour ago.  He’s a friend of mine.  I nominated him town-meetin’ day.”

“But,” stammered Phinney, very much upset by the suddenness of it all, “you ain’t got my price nor—­”

“Drat your price!  Give it when I ask it.  See here, Sim, are you goin’ to have my house in the middle of the road by day after to-morrer?  Or was that just talk?”

“’Twa’n’t talk.  I can have it there, but—­”

“All right,” said Captain Sol coolly, “then have it.”

Hands in pockets, he strolled away.  Simeon sat down on a rock by the roadside and whistled.

However, whistling was a luxurious and time-wasting method of expressing amazement, and Mr. Phinney could not afford luxuries just then.  For the rest of that day he was a busy man.  As Bailey Stitt expressed it, he “flew round like a sand flea in a mitten,” hiring laborers, engaging masons, and getting his materials ready.  That very afternoon the masons began tearing down the chimneys of the little Berry house.  Before the close of the following day it was on the rollers.  By two of the day after that it was in the middle of the Shore Road, just when its mover had declared it should be.  They were moving it, furniture and all, and Captain Sol was, as he said, going to “stay right aboard all the voyage.”  No cooking could be done, of course, but the Captain arranged to eat at Mrs. Higgins’s hospitable table during the transit.  His sudden freak was furnishing material for gossip throughout the village, but he did not care.  Gossip concerning his actions was the last thing in the world to trouble Captain Sol Berry.

The Williams’s “Colonial” was moving toward the corner at a rapid rate, and the foreman of the Boston moving firm walked over to see Mr. Phinney.

“Say,” he observed to Simeon, who, the perspiration streaming down his face, was resting for a moment before recommencing his labor of arranging rollers; “say,” observed the foreman, “we’ll be ready to turn into the Boulevard by tomorrer night and you’re blockin’ the way.”

“That’s all right,” said Simeon, “we’ll be past the Boulevard corner by that time.”

He thought he was speaking the truth, but next morning, before work began, Captain Berry appeared.  He had had breakfast and strolled around to the scene of operations.

“Well,” asked Phinney, “how’d it seem to sleep on wheels?”

“Tiptop,” replied the depot master.  “Like it fust rate.  S’pose my next berth will be somewheres up there, won’t it?”

He was pointing around the corner instead of straight ahead.  Simeon gaped, his mouth open.

“Up there?” he cried.  “Why, of course not.  That’s the Boulevard.  We’re goin’ along the Shore Road.”

“That so?  I guess not.  We’re goin’ by the Boulevard.  Can go that way, can’t we?”

“Can?” repeated Simeon aghast.  “Course we can!  But it’s like boxin’ the whole compass backward to get ha’f a p’int east of no’th.  It’s way round Robin Hood’s barn.  It’ll take twice as long and cost—­”