rewards for any sort of likely information.
And the barber would go on to describe with sardonic gusto, how that
stranger in mourning had been seen exploring the country, in carts, on
foot, taking everybody into his confidence, visiting all the inns
and alehouses for miles around, stopping people on the road with his
questions, looking into the very ditches almost; first in the greatest
excitement, then with a plodding sort of perseverance, growing slower
and slower; and he could not even tell you plainly how his son looked.
The sailor was supposed to be one of two that had left a timber
ship, and to have been seen dangling after some girl; but the old man
described a boy of fourteen or so--"a clever-looking, high-spirited
boy." And when people only smiled at this he would rub his forehead in
a confused sort of way before he slunk off, looking offended. He found
nobody, of course; not a trace of anybody--never heard of anything worth
belief, at any rate; but he had not been able somehow to tear himself
away from Colebrook.

"It was the shock of this disappointment, perhaps, coming soon after the
loss of his wife, that had driven him crazy on that point," the barber
suggested, with an air of great psychological insight. After a time the
old man abandoned the active search. His son had evidently gone away;
but he settled himself to wait. His son had been once at least in
Colebrook in preference to his native place. There must have been some
reason for it, he seemed to think, some very powerful inducement, that
would bring him back to Colebrook again.

"Ha, ha, ha! Why, of course, Colebrook. Where else? That's the only
place in the United Kingdom for your long-lost sons. So he sold up his
old home in Colchester, and down he comes here. Well, it's a craze,
like any other. Wouldn't catch me going crazy over any of my youngsters
clearing out. I've got eight of them at home." The barber was showing
off his strength of mind in the midst of a laughter that shook the
tap-room.

Strange, though, that sort of thing, he would confess, with the
frankness of a superior intelligence, seemed to be catching. His
establishment, for instance, was near the harbour, and whenever a
sailor-man came in for a hair-cut or a shave--if it was a strange face he
couldn't help thinking directly, "Suppose he's the son of old Hagberd!"
He laughed at himself for it. It was a strong craze. He could remember
the time when the whole town was full of it.