“Yes,” replied the lawyer briefly. He did not encourage conversation with casual acquaintances. The latest arrival had caught his attention because there was something familiar about him. It seemed to Graves that he must have seen him before; and yet that was very improbable. This was the attorney’s first visit to Cape Cod, and he had already vowed devoutly that it should be his last. He turned a chilling shoulder to the trio opposite and again consulted the time-table. Denboro was the next station; then--thank the Lord--South Denboro, his destination. Conversation across the aisle was brisk, and its subjects were many and varied. Mr. Graves became aware, more or less against his will, that the person called “Cap’n” was, if not a leader in politics and local affairs, still one whose opinions counted. Some of those opinions, as given, were pointed and dryly descriptive; as, for instance, when a certain town-meeting candidate was compared to a sculpin--“with a big head that sort of impresses you, till you get close enough to realize it _has_ to be big to make room for so much mouth.” Graves, who was fond of salt water fishing, knew what a sculpin was, and appreciated the comparison. The conductor entered the car and stopped to collect a ticket from his new passenger. It was evident that he, too, was acquainted with the latter. “Evening, Cap’n,” he said, politely. “Train’s a little late to-night.” “It is--for to-night’s train,” was the prompt response, “but if it keeps on at the rate it’s travelin’ now, it’ll be a little early for to-morrow mornin’s, won’t it?” The conductor laughed. “Guess you’re right,” he said. “This is about as wet a storm as I’ve run through since I’ve been on the road. If we get to Provincetown without a washout we’ll be lucky.... Well, we’ve made another hitch. So far, so good.” The brakeman swung open the door to shout, “Denboro! Denboro!” the conductor picked up his lantern and hurried away, the locomotive whistled hoarsely, and the train hiccoughed alongside another little station. Mr. Graves, peering through his window, imagined that here the silhouettes on the platform moved more briskly. They seemed almost excited. He inferred that Denboro was a bigger and more wide-awake village than Ostable. But he was mistaken. The reason for the excitement was made plain by the conductor a moment afterwards. That official entered the car, removed his uniform cap, and rubbed a wet forehead with a wetter hand. “Well, gentlemen,” he said, “I’ve been expecting it, and here it is. Mark me down as a good prophet, will you? There’s a washout a mile further on, and a telegraph pole across the track. It’s blowing great guns and raining pitchforks. It’ll be out of the question for us to go forward before daylight, if then. Darn a railroad man’s job anyhow!”