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"Forty cents is a most disinterested offer, and I accept it heartily," said Madison affably. "And my name's Madison John Garfield Madison, from New York." "Mine's Higgins," volunteered the other. "Hiram Higgins, an' I'm postmaster an' town constable of Needley. An' now, Mr.
Thornton's death she had begun to act that way before Mrs. Thornton died that night when she came home with Thornton, and he and the Flopper were behind the trellis. Thornton! Had Thornton anything to do with it, after all? No Madison had laughed at it then, and he had much more reason to laugh at it now. Thornton was still in Chicago, and hadn't been back to Needley.
"Have to have 'em for some things, of course an' then he drives over from Barton's Mills, seven miles from here." "And do all the people in Needley believe in the Patriarch?" Madison's voice was full of grave interest. "Well," said Mr. Higgins, "to be plumb downright honest with you, they don't.
Upon the ground squatted the Flopper, his eyes sweeping the ring of faces that was like a wall around him the grinning faces of his fellow passengers from the train; the stony, concerned and rather sullen faces of the men of Needley; the anxious, excited faces of the women; the bewildered, curious and somewhat frightened faces of the children, who pushed and shoved their elders for better vantage ground.
A metropolitan newspaper man was struck with the idea of a humorous series of articles to pay for his vacation, entitled, "Characters I Have Met In Maine" and forthwith, perched on the back of the seat behind the Flopper, proceeded to sketch out the first one, with the mental determination to get off at Needley for the local color necessary to its climax.
A soap drummer nudged a fellow drummer whose line was lingerie. "Ever do Needley?" he grinned. The lingerie exponent had a sense of humor he grinned back. "My house is everlastingly rubbing it into me to open up new territory," said the soap salesman. "Me too," responded the white-goods man. "Needley," said he of the soap persuasion, "would be virgin soil for any drummer."
They turned a right-angled bend in the road, disclosing a straggling hamlet in a hollow below, and, farther away in the distance, a sweep of ocean. "Most any kind," said Mr. Higgins. "There's Needley now. All you've got to do is ask the first person you see about him." "Yes," said Madison, "but take yourself, for instance. Did this Patriarch ever do anything for you?" "He did," said Mr.
Thornton's death, which had had at least no visible effect on Needley, Needley was metamorphosed with a spontaneity, so to speak, that astounded even Madison himself into something that approximated very closely in reality the word-picture he had drawn of it that night in the Roost. Madison looked upon his work and saw that it was pleasing beyond his dreams.
He pushed a little pile toward the Hopper, another toward Pale Face Harry, and tucked the remainder into his coat pocket again. "That'll do for expenses," he said. "And now, if you understand everything, principally that you're to go to church Sundays till you hear from me, and you're quite satisfied with the lay, we'll adjourn, sine die, to Needley."
"Mabbe," announced the Flopper tactfully, "mabbe I'd better be gettin' back to me valise we're most dere, ain't we?" Mrs. Thornton turned toward him. "No; please don't go, Mr. Coogan it's too hard for you to get through the train. Sam will get your things as soon as he comes back. Do stay right where you are until we get to Needley." "No; don't think of going, Mr. Coogan," said Thornton savagely.
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