Mr. Duncan quoted other letters, and William Wetherell thrilled.  Poor man! he had had little enough incense in his time, and none at all from the great.  They came to the big square house with the cornice which Cynthia had seen the day before, and walked across the lawn through the open door.  William Wetherell had a glimpse of a great drawing-room with high windows, out of which was wafted the sound of a piano and of youthful voice and laughter, and then he was in the library.  The thought of one man owning all those books overpowered him.  There they were, in stately rows, from the floor to the high ceiling, and a portable ladder with which to reach them.

Mr. Duncan, understanding perhaps something of the storekeeper’s embarrassment, proceeded to take down his treasures:  first editions from the shelves, and folios and mistrals from drawers in a great iron safe in one corner and laid them on the mahogany desk.  It was the railroad president’s hobby, and could he find an appreciative guest, he was happy.  It need scarcely be said that he found William Wetherell appreciative, and possessed of knowledge of Shaksperiana and other matters that astonished his host as well as pleased him.  For Wetherell had found his tongue at last.

After a while Mr. Duncan drew out his watch and gave a start.

“By George!” he exclaimed, “it’s after eight o’clock.  I’ll have to ask you to excuse me to-night, Mr. Wetherell.  I’d like to show you the rest of them—­can’t you come around to-morrow afternoon?”

Mr. Wetherell, who had forgotten his own engagement and “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” said he would be happy to come.  And they went out together and began to walk toward the State House.

“It isn’t often I find a man who knows anything at all about these things,” continued Mr. Duncan, whose heart was quite won.  “Why do you bury yourself in Coniston?”

“I went there from Briton for my health,” said the storekeeper.

“Jethro Bass lives there, doesn’t he” said Mr. Duncan, with a laugh.  But I suppose you don’t know anything about politics.”

“I know nothing at all,” said Mr. Wetherell, which was quite true.  He had been in dreamland, but now the fact struck him again, with something of a shock, that this mild-mannered gentleman was one of those who had been paying certain legislators to remain in their seats.  Wetherell thought of speaking to Mr. Duncan of his friendship with Jethro Bass, but the occasion passed.

“I wish to heaven I didn’t have to know anything about politics,” Mr. Duncan was saying; “they disgust me.  There’s a little matter on now, about an extension of the Truro Railroad to Harwich, which wouldn’t interest you, but you can’t conceive what a nuisance it has been to watch that House day and night, as I’ve had to.  It’s no joke to have that townsman of yours; Jethro Bass, opposed to you.  I won’t say anything against him, for he many be a friend of yours, and I have to use him sometimes myself.”