I outslept Herrick by a good hour the next morning; in fact, he was
already up and out by the time I came down to a belated breakfast. I
had one call to make in the village, and after that, Herrick being
still absent, I sat down on the porch with my pipe and a newspaper to
await his return.
There was no mail for me at the office, only a couple of letters for
Herrick, forwarded from New York, and as I slipped these in my pocket
I wondered again at the curious silence of Lennox. Since that short
note from Queenstown I had heard nothing from him, and he had
neglected even to provide me with the promised address by which I
could communicate with him in case of need, an oversight by which he
had certainly secured to himself a free and uninterrupted holiday,
and which left me no choice meantime but to await his return or such
news as he might ultimately choose to send. I must admit that
Lessing's phrase "bolted" stuck unpleasantly in my mind, little as it
accorded with my estimate of Lennox's character. His haste to be
off, the lack of any communication from him since, had more than a
look of flight, but why, or from what he had bolted I was still at a
loss to understand.
I was still turning this over in my mind when Herrick sauntered into
view down the road, accompanied by a stranger. Visitors were
sufficiently rare in the neighbourhood, and as the two approached the
house leisurely I studied the new-comer with some curiosity. He was
a small man, of apparently some fifty years, sparsely bearded, and
dressed in a very shabby knickerbocker suit of greenish tweeds. A
soft felt hat covered his head and at least half his forehead; he
wore dark glasses and carried a botanical collecting-box slung over
his shoulder. There was something quaintly rabbit-like in his
appearance, enhanced by the air of timidity with which he hung back
while Herrick strode forward to the porch to greet me.
"I want to introduce Mr. Crowfoot," Herrick said, with a gesture
which had an effect of herding the mild little man up to the porch
step as he might have herded some curious and inoffensive zoological
specimen. "He is down here hunting orchids, and I came across him in
the woods and brought him along to have a chat with you. You might
be able to give him some hints about the country."
I shook hands with the little man and gave him a chair on the porch,
where he settled himself shyly, his collecting-box across his knee.
"I'm afraid I don't know much about the flora round here," I said,
"but I imagine Mr. Crowfoot will find a good deal to interest him."
"Oh, I am only an amateur," said the little man. "I s---- I s----
I s-s----"
He undoubtedly did, and the reason for his shyness stood forthwith
revealed. He stammered, and had more than the usual sensitiveness of
his infirmity.
"S-simply indulge a hobby," he finished heroically. "It gives me an
object for my leisure time. I s-s---- _presume_ you have lived here
some time, Mr.----?"
"Haverill--Doctor Haverill," Herrick prompted.
"Haverill." He repeated it in a certain child-like way, as though to
place the name definitely in his memory, and immediately I was
conscious of a liking for him. He was at once so diffident and so
meticulously polite.
"On the contrary, I've been here only a month or so, taking a
friend's place for the time. The country about is delightful, so far
as I know it."
"Delightful!" he echoed, and lapsed into a pleased silence, which
lasted so long that Herrick rose.
"I want to change my shoes," he said. "I've been up to the neck in
bog. I don't know our resources, Austin, but I guess we can offer
Mr. Crowfoot a drink?"
"Water--I should l-like very much a plain glass of water," said the
little botanist.
"And a cigar at all events," I supplemented. "I should have some
pretty decent cigars somewhere around that my predecessor left here.
Look in the drawer in the surgery, Jack, will you?"
Herrick reappeared a moment later with the box.
"Excellent," said our new friend as he helped himself. "Excellent!
Apparently you d-d-don't care for these cigars then, Doctor Haverill?"