Middleboro. And I shall go back
tomorrow, or the day after at the latest."

Another session of "weeding." Then said Mr. Cobb: "Well, all right, all
right. I'll think it over and then I'll drive across to East Wellmouth,
have another look at the property, and let you know. I'll see you day
after tomorrow forenoon. Where you stoppin' over there?"

Thankful told him. He walked as far as the door with her.

"Hope you ain't put out with me, ma'am," he said. "I have to be kind of
sharp and straight up and down in my dealin's; they'd get the weather
gauge on me a dozen times a day if I wa'n't. But I'm real
kind inside--to them I take a notion to. I'll--I'll treat you
right--er--er--Cousin Thankful; you see if I don't. I'm real glad you
come to me. Good day."

Thankful went down the path. As she reached the sidewalk she turned and
looked back. The gentleman with the kind interior was standing peering
at her through the cracked glass of the door. He was still tugging at
his whiskers and if, as he had intimated, he had "taken a notion" to
her, his expression concealed the fact wonderfully.

Captain Obed, who had evidently been on the lookout for his passenger,
appeared on the platform of the store on the other side of the road.
After asking if she had any other "port of call" in that neighborhood,
he assisted her into the carriage and they started on their homeward
trip. The captain must have filled with curiosity concerning the widow's
interview with Mr. Cobb, but beyond asking if she had seen the latter,
he did not question. Thankful appreciated his reticence; the average
dweller in Wellmouth--Winnie S., for instance--would have started in on
a vigorous cross-examination. Her conviction that Captain Bangs was much
above the average was strengthened.

"Yes," she said, "he was there. I saw him. He's a--a kind of queer
person, I should say. Do you know him real well, Cap'n Bangs?"

The captain nodded. "Yes," he said, "I know him about as well as anybody
outside of Trumet does. I ain't sure that anybody really knows him all
the way through. Queer!" he chuckled. "Well, yes--you might say Sol
Cobb was queer and you wouldn't be strainin' the truth enough to start a
plank. He's all that and then consider'ble."

"What sort of a man is he?"

"Sol? Hum! Well, he's smart; anybody that beats Sol Cobb in a trade has
got to get up a long ways ahead of breakfast time. Might stay up all
night and then not have more leeway than he'd be