e had no appetite whatever, after the first tentative sip he went
on to the bottom of the cup. When this was gone, Sue placed before him a
plate of corned-beef hash, an alluring pinkness showing beneath the
gratifying upper coat of brown. A small dish of cucumbers--thin, iced
cucumbers, with a French dressing--accompanied the hash; and with these
he was offered hot rolls so small and delicate and crisp that, after
cautiously sampling the butter with what seemed a fastidious palate, the
guest took to eating rolls as if he had seldom found anything so well
worth consuming.

Something made of red raspberries and cream followed, and then half a
large cantaloupe, its golden heart filled with crushed ice, was placed
before him. Last appeared a cup of amber coffee. As the guest tasted
this beverage, a look of complete satisfaction overspread his pale face,
and he drained the cup clear and asked for more.

Presently he strolled out into the lobby. Here Tom awaited him behind
the desk. The hotel register was open, and Tom's fingers suggestively
held a pen. The guest obeyed the hint. At an inn so small, it certainly
would be a pity for any guest not to add his name to the short list.

For it was a very short list. Although a full month had gone by since
the first arrival had written her name, the bottom of the page had not
been quite reached when this latest one scratched his in characters
which looked quite as much like Arabic as English. When Tom came to
examine the name later, he made it out to be Perkins, though it might
quite as easily have been Tompkins, or Judson, or any other name which
had an elevated letter somewhere in the middle. The initials were quite
indecipherable. But Perkins it turned out to be, for when Tom
tentatively addressed the newcomer by that appellation there was no
correction made, and he continued to respond whenever so accosted.

Mr. Perkins spent the evening smoking upon the porch, his head turned
toward the mountains. The next morning, when he had eaten a breakfast
which included some wonderful browned griddle-cakes and syrup--another
of the Inn's specialties--he strolled away into the middle distance and
was observed by various of the guests, from time to time, perched about
among the rocks, in idle attitudes.

"He's a queer duck," observed Tom in the kitchen that day, describing
Mr. Perkins to his mother. Mrs. Boswell seldom appeared beyond her
special domain--that of the kitchen--but left th