had been open, no guest distantly resembling one or the
other of those desirable types had approached the little mountain
hostelry.

"Anything better?" inquired the thin man, his extraordinarily quick
glance covering every detail of the room like lightning, as Tom felt.

"Sure--if you want the bridal suit." Tom pronounced it proudly, as it
were a claw-hammer and white waistcoat.

"Bring her on."

Tom marched ahead to the two rooms opening on the little balcony above
the side porch, a balcony which belonged to the "bridal suite" alone,
and which commanded the finest view into the very heart of the mountains
that the house afforded. Seeing his guest--after one look around the
spotless room with its pink and white furnishings, and into the small
dressing-room beyond--stride toward the outer door, Tom threw it wide.
The guest stepped out on to the balcony. Here he pulled off his hat,
which he had not before removed, and let the breeze--for there was
unquestionably a breeze, even on this afternoon of a day which had been
one of the hottest the country had known--drift refreshingly against his
damp brow. The zephyr was strong enough even to lift slightly the thick
locks of black hair which lay above the white forehead.

"Price for this?" asked the stranger, in his abrupt way, turning back
into the room.

Tom mentioned it--with a little inward hesitation. The family had
differed a good deal on the question of prices for these best rooms. In
his opinion that settled upon for the bridal suite was almost
prohibitively high. Not a guest yet but had turned away with a sigh. For
a moment he had been tempted to reduce it, but he had promised the
others to stick by the decision at least through July. So he mentioned
the price firmly.

The guest glanced sharply at him as he did so. There was a queer little
contraction of the stranger's thin upper lip. Then he said: "I'll take
'em--for the night, and you may hold 'em for me till to-morrow night.
Tell you then whether I'll stay longer."

Tom understood, of course, that it was now a question of a satisfactory
table. But here he knew he was strong. Mother Boswell's cooking--there
was none better obtainable. He was already in a hurry to prove to this
laconic stranger who demanded the best he had of everything, including
breezes, that in the matter of food Boswell's Inn could satisfy the
most exacting. Not in elaborately dressed viands of rare kitchen
product, of course--that was