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When the train drew in at New Mullion, Bill was on the station platform, near his dray. What was curious was that the old dragon, Lutkins’s mother, was there talking to him, and they were not quarreling but laughing.

From the car steps I pointed them out to the lumber-camp clerk, and in young hero-worship I murmured: “There’s a fine fellow, a real man. ”

“Meet him here yesterday?” asked the clerk.

“I spent the day with him. ”

“He help you hunt for Oliver Lutkins?”

“Yes, he helped me a lot. ”

“He must have! He’s Lutkins himself!”

But what really hurt was
that when I served the summons Lutkins and his mother laughed at me as though I were a bright boy of seven, and with loving solicitude they begged me to go to a neighbor’s house and take a cup of coffee.

“I told ’em about you, and they’re dying to have a look at you,” said Lutkins joyfully. “They’re about the only folks in town that missed seeing you yesterday. ”