He could not
understand what he was doing there.
Captain Elisha noted his bewildered expression, and chuckled.
"Come aboard, Jim!" he commanded. "Come in and inspect. I'll see you
later, Mrs. Hepton," he added, "and give you my final word. I want to
hold officer's council with Mr. Pearson here fust."
The landlady accepted the broad hint and turned to go.
"Very well," she said, "but I do hope for all our sakes that word will
be YES, Mr. Warren--Excuse me, it is Captain Warren, isn't it?"
"It used to be, yes, ma'am. And at home it is yet. 'Round here I've
learned to be like a barroom poll-parrot, ready to answer to most
everything. There!" as the door closed after her; "now we can be more
private. Set down, Jim! How are you, anyway?"
Pearson sat down mechanically. "I'm well enough--everything considered,"
he replied, slowly. "But what--what are you in here for? I don't
understand."
"You will in a minute. What do you think of this--er--saloon cabin?"
with a comprehensive sweep of his arm.
The room was of fair size, furnished in a nondescript, boarding-house
fashion, and with two windows overlooking the little back yard of
the house and those of the other adjoining it. Each yard contained an
assortment of ash cans, and there was an astonishing number of clothes
lines, each fluttering a variety of garments peculiarly personal to
their respective owners.
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