“You any relation to Josh?” he asked. “I beg your pardon?” “Eh? Oh, that's all right. I just asked you if you was a relation of Josh's--of Hall's, I mean, the folks you're goin' to see.” “Oh, no, no. We are not related. Merely friends.” “I see. I thought there wan't any Bangses in that family. His wife was a Cahoon, wan't she?” “I--I BEG your pardon?” “I asked you if she wan't a Cahoon; Cahoon was her name afore she married Hall, wan't it?” “Oh, I don't know, I'm sure.... Now, really, that's very funny, very.” “What's funny?” “Why, you see, I--” Mr. Bangs had an odd little way of pausing in the middle of a sentence and then, so to speak, catching the train of his thought with a jerk and hurrying on again. “I understood you to ask if she was a--a cocoon. I could scarcely believe my ears. It WAS funny, wasn't it?” Raish Pulcifer thought it was and said so between roars. His conviction that his passenger was a queer bird was strengthening every minute. “What's your line of business, Mr. Bangs?” was his next question. “I am not a business man. I am connected with the Archaeological Department of the National Institute at Washington.” If he had said he was connected with the interior department of a Brontosaurus the statements would have conveyed an equal amount of understanding to the Pulcifer mind. However, it was a fixed principle with Raish never to admit a lack of knowledge of any subject whatsoever. So he said: “From Washin'ton, eh? I see. Yes, yes. Cal'latin' to stay here on the Cape long, Mr. Bangs?” “Why, I don't know, I'm sure. I have not been--ah--well of late. The doctors advise rest and--ah--outdoor air and all that. I tried several places, but I didn't care for them. The Halls invited me to visit them and so I--well, I came.” “Never been here to the Cape afore, then?” “No.” “Well, sir, you've come to the right place when you came to Wellmouth. I was born right here in East Wellmouth and I've lived here for fifty-two year and if anybody should ask me what I thought of the place I'd tell 'em--” He proceeded to tell what he would tell 'em. It was a favorite topic with him, especially in the summer and with visitors from the city. Usually the discourse ended with a suggestion that if the listener should ever think of investing a little money in real estate “that'll be wuth gold dollars to you--yes, sir, gold dollars--” he, Horatio G. Pulcifer, would be willing to point out and exhibit just the particular bit of real estate to invest in. He did not reach the climax this time, however. A gentle nasal sound at his shoulder caused Raish to turn his head. Mr. Bangs had fallen asleep. Awakened by a vigorous nudge, he apologized profusely. “Really,” he declared, with much embarrassment, “I--I am quite ashamed of myself. I--you see--I have, as I say, been somewhat unwell of late, and the fatigue of walking--I DO hope you will excuse me. I was very much interested in what you were saying. What--ah--what was it?”