Mr. Bloomer's philosophy helped him through most annoyances but
it broke down under the weight of the summer boarder and his--or--her
questions.
Galusha, in his daily walks, kept far afield, avoiding the traveled
ways. His old resort, the Baptist cemetery, he seldom visited now,
having examined and re-examined all the interesting stones within its
borders. He had discovered another ancient burial ground, over on the
South Wellmouth road, and occasionally his wanderings took him as far as
that. The path to and from this cemetery led over the edge of the bluff
and wound down to the beach by the creek and landlocked harbor where his
hat--the brown derby--had put to sea that Sunday morning in the previous
October. The path skirted the creek for a little way, then crossed on a
small bridge and climbed the pine-clad hills on the other side.
Late one afternoon in August, Galusha, returning along this path, met
a man coming in the other direction. The man was a stranger to him
and obviously not a resident of East Wellmouth. He was a stout,
prosperous-looking individual, well-dressed and with a brisk manner.
When Mr. Bangs first saw him he was standing at a point near the foot
of the bluff, and gazing intently at the view. Galusha turned the corner
above the bridge where the path re-entered the pine grove. When he
emerged again the man had walked on to the little rise by the farther
edge of the creek.
Pages:
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369