"Heavens!" I said. "Do you know him, too?"
"Well, I should think so," he said. "Didn't he come to see me last
spring about an appropriation for school libraries, and wouldn't
leave till I'd promised to do what he wanted! He stayed the night
with us and we talked literature till four o'clock in the morning.
Where is he now? Have you taken over Parnassus?"
"Just at present," I said, "Mr. Mifflin is in the jail at Port Vigor."
The ladies gave little cries of astonishment, and the gentleman
himself (I had sized him up as a school commissioner or something
of that sort) seemed not less surprised.
"In jail!" he said. "What on earth for? Has he sandbagged somebody
for reading Nick Carter and Bertha M. Clay? That's about the only
crime he'd be likely to commit."
"He's supposed to have cozened me out of four hundred dollars," I
said, "and my brother has had him locked up. But as a matter of fact
he wouldn't swindle a hen out of a new-laid egg. I bought Parnassus
of my own free will. I'm on my way to Port Vigor now to get him out.
Then I'm going to ask him to marry me--if he will. It's not leap
year, either."
He looked at me, his thin, lined face working with friendliness. He
was a fine-looking man--short, gray hair brushed away from a broad,
brown forehead. I noticed his rich, dark suit and the spotless
collar. This was a man of breeding, evidently.
"Well, Madam," he said, "any friend of the Professor is a friend of
ours." (His wife and the girls chimed in with assent.) "If you would
like a lift in our car to speed you on your errand, I'm sure Bob
here would be glad to drive Parnassus into Port Vigor. Our tire will
soon be mended."
The young man assented heartily, but as I said before, I was bent
on taking Parnassus back myself. I thought the sight of his own
tabernacle would be the best balm for Mifflin's annoying experience.
So I refused the offer, and explained the situation a little more
fully.
"Well," he said, "then let me help in any way I can." He took a
card from his pocket-book and scribbled something on it. "When you
get to Port Vigor," he said, "show this at the jail and I don't
think you'll have any trouble. I happen to know the people there."
So after a hand-shake all round I went on again, much cheered by
this friendly little incident. It wasn't till I was some way along
the road that I thought of looking at the card he had given me. Then
I realized why the man's face had been familiar. The card read quite
simply: