'
Lord Dawlish made sympathetic noises.
'Of course,' proceeded the other, 'the time of year may have
something to do with it. Living down in the country you lose count
of time, and I forgot that it was July, when people go out of the
city. I guess that must be what happened. I used to know all sorts
of fellows, actors and fellows like that, and they're all away
somewhere. I tell you,' he said, with pathos, 'I never knew I
could be so infernally lonesome as I have been these last two
days. If I had known what a rotten time I was going to have I
would never have left Brookport.'
'Brookport!'
'It's a place down on Long Island.'
Bill was not by nature a plotter, but the mere fact of travelling
under an assumed name had developed a streak of wariness in him.
He checked himself just as he was about to ask his companion if he
happened to know a Miss Elizabeth Boyd, who also lived at
Brookport. It occurred to him that the question would invite a
counter-question as to his own knowledge of Miss Boyd, and he knew
that he would not be able to invent a satisfactory answer to that
offhand.
'This evening,' said the thin young man, resuming his dirge, 'I
was sweating my brain to try to think of somebody I could hunt up
in this ghastly, deserted city. It isn't so easy, you know, to
think of fellows' names and addresses.
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