“Of course you didn’t,” he said.  “Well, to tell you the truth, I didn’t come purposely to see you, old man.  There has been a little business matter down here which hasn’t gone as I wanted it to, and I decided, pretty much on the spur of the moment, to motor down and see what was the matter.  The friend for whom I was trying to handle the thing—­it is only a little matter—­was coming with me, but this morning I got a wire that he was detained and couldn’t make it.  So, as it was a glorious day and my doctor keeps telling me to forget business occasionally, I started alone.  I didn’t leave town until nearly eleven, had some motor trouble, and didn’t reach here until almost five.  Then I found the fellow I came to see had gone somewhere, nobody knew where, and the hotel was closed for the season.  I inquired about you, was given your address at the post office, and hunted you up.  That’s the story.”

Galusha’s smile was less forced this time.  He nodded reflectively.

“That explains it,” he said, slowly.  “Yes, quite so.  Of course, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why—­ah—­it explains why you came here, you know.”

“Well, I hope it does.  That was the idea.  If it doesn’t I don’t know what will.”

Miss Phipps entered briskly from the kitchen.  She proceeded to set another place at the supper table.

“Mr. Bangs,” she said, “hadn’t you better take Mr. Cabot up to your room?  Probably he’d like to clean up after ridin’ so far.  Better go right away, because supper is nearly ready.  Mr. Cabot, it is Saturday night and you’ll get a Saturday night supper, beans and brown bread.  I hope you won’t mind.”

Galusha’s relative was somewhat taken aback.

“Why, Miss Phipps,” he protested, “of course I can’t think of dining here.  It is extremely kind of you, but really I—­”

Martha calmly interrupted.  “It isn’t kind at all,” she said.  “And it isn’t dinner, it is supper.  If you don’t stay I shall think it is because you don’t like baked beans.  I may as well tell you,” she added, “that you will get beans and nothin’ else over at Elmer Roger’s.  They won’t be as good as these, that’s all.  That isn’t pride,” she continued, with a twinkle in her eye.  “Anybody’s beans are better than Elmer’s, they couldn’t help bein’.”

The visitor still hesitated.  “Well, really, Miss Phipps,” he said, “I—­ Well, I should like to stay.  I should, indeed.  But, you see, my chauffeur is outside waiting to take me over to the Roger’s House.”

Martha smiled.  “Oh, no, he isn’t,” she said.  “He is havin’ his supper in the kitchen now.  Run along, Mr. Bangs, and you and your cousin hurry down as soon as you can.”

On the way upstairs Cabot asked a question.

“She is a ‘reg’lar’ woman, as the boys say,” he observed.  “I like her.  Does she always, so to speak, boss people like that?”