This quaintly
masterful little man was a trifle disconcerting. Across the
next ridge I could see the Greenbriar church spire shining white.
"Do you know this part of the country?" I asked finally.
"Not this exact section. I've been in Port Vigor often, but
then I was on the road that runs along the Sound. I suppose
this village ahead is Greenbriar?"
"Yes," I said. "It's about thirteen miles from there to Port
Vigor. How do you expect to get back to Brooklyn?"
"Oh, Brooklyn?" he said vaguely. "Yes, I'd forgotten about
Brooklyn for the minute. I was thinking of my book. Why, I
guess I'll take the train from Port Vigor. The trouble is,
you can never get to Brooklyn without going through New York.
It's symbolic, I suppose."
Again there was a silence. Finally he said, "Is there another
town between Greenbriar and Port Vigor?"
"Yes, Shelby," I said. "About five miles from Greenbriar."
"That'll be as far as you'll get to-night," he said. "I'll see
you safe to Shelby, and then make tracks for Port Vigor. I hope
there's a decent inn at Shelby where you can stop overnight."
I hoped so, too, but I wasn't going to let him see that with
the waning afternoon my enthusiasm was a little less robust.
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