left a package in the office, and came down-stairs for it. He looked pale and anxious,
"Nothing turned up yet?" queried Mr. Banger. "Odd! I should think you'd feel quite nonplused."
"I do," replied Philip, pausing. "It is—rather curious." He did not wish to seem uncomfortable. "I think we shall hear something to-morrow. Good-night, sir." And he went up-stairs again, too weary and dejected to talk over his worry with any comparative stranger.
Just as he closed his bed-room door, and as sounds from below were shut out, wheels came crackling up to the front piazza. Mr. Banger walked to the door. Somebody was standing beside his vehicle. "In half an hour," he was saying; "and rub him down well before you bring him back."
Mr. Banger recognized the voice.
"Ah, Mr. Jennison!" he exclaimed, as that gentleman came up the steps leisurely, "where do you hail from at this time of the evening?"
"When most decent people are going to sleep, ourselves the bright exceptions?" Mr. Winthrop Jennison returned.
