Weston, lanky and erect, moved
with a masterful stride, not unlike the lean and keen-witted setter
that flashed to and fro over the road before him. At his side was the
girl, a slender body in drab, tossing her hat gayly about at the end of
its long string. They passed the store and the mill, and at the bend
were lost to my view. They seemed to find themselves such good
company! Even Tim, so fine and big, had in this homely, lanky man a
rival well worth watching.
And who was the quiet, lanky man? Over and over I asked myself the
question, and when I touched its every phase I found that Henry Holmes
or Isaac Bolum, some one of the store worthies, had met defeat there
before me. At last I gave up, and by a sudden thought arose and pulled
on my overcoat, and got my hat. Tim was surprised.
"You are not going out?" he said.
"I think I'll stroll down to the tavern and see this stranger," I
replied carelessly. "No, you needn't come. I can find my way alone
all right, for the moon will be up and it's only a step.
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