go
when we went on our New York cruise together. The weir business had been
pretty good and Sim had been teasin' me to go on a vacation with him, so
I went. Sim ain't stopped talkin' about our experiences yet. Ho! ho!"

"You bet he ain't!" laughed the depot master. "One mix-up you had with
a priest, and a love story, and land knows what. He talks about that to
this day."

"What was it? He never told me," said Wingate.

"Why, it begun at the Golconda House, the hotel where Sim and I was
stayin'. We--"

"Did YOU put up at the Golconda?" interrupted Barzilla. "Why, Cap'n
Jonadab and me stayed there when we went to New York."

"I know you did. Jonadab recommended it to Sim, and Sim took the
recommendation. That Golconda House is the only grudge I've got against
Jonadab Wixon. It sartin is a tough old tavern."

"I give in to that. Jonadab's so sot on it account of havin' stopped
there on his honeymoon, years and years ago. He's too stubborn to
own it's bad. It's a matter of principle with him, and he's sot on
principle."

"Yes," continued Baker. "Well, Sim and me had been at that Golconda
three days and nights. Mornin' of the fourth day we walked out of the
dinin' room after breakfast, feelin' pretty average chipper. Gettin'
safe past another meal at that hotel was enough of itself to make a chap
grateful.

"We walked out of the dinin' room and into the office. And there, by the
clerk's desk, was a big, tall man, dressed up in clothes that was loud
enough to speak for themselves, and with a shiny new tall hat, set with
a list to port, on his head. He was smooth-faced and pug-nosed, with an
upper lip like a camel's.

"He didn't pay much attention to us, nor to anybody else, for the matter
of that. He was as mournful as a hearse, for all his joyful togs.

"'Fine day, ain't it?' says Sim, social.

"The tall chap looked up at him from under the deck of the beaver hat.

"'Huh!' he growls out, and looks down again.

"'I say it's a fine day,' said Phinney again.

"'I was after hearin' yez say it,' says the man, and walks off, scowlin'
like a meat ax. We looked after him.

"'Who was that murderer?' asks Sim of the clerk. 'And when are they
going to hang him?'

"'S-sh-sh!' whispers the clerk, scart. ''Tis the boss. The bloke what
runs the hotel. He's a fine man, but he has troubles. He's blue.'

"'So that's the boss, hey?' says I. 'And he's blue. Well, he looks it.
What's troublin' him? Ain't business good?'