“Not down here. There wouldn’t be any occasion.” “Does he get his groceries here or in the city?” “He sends them down here by express.” The stranger seemed to lose all interest in the Irving family. Two or three summer residents were mentioned who were supposed to be rich, but it did not appear that any of them kept valuables at their summer homes. John Trafton had not taken any part in the conversation hitherto, and if he had been prudent he would have continued to remain silent, but a man excited by drink is not likely to be discreet. He broke silence when there came a lull in the discussion. “There’s one man you haven’t mentioned,” he said, “who keeps more money on hand than Mr. Irving or any one else you have spoken of.” “A man in the village here?” asked the landlord. “He means you, Mr. Jones,” said Ben Barton jocosely. “Ain’t we all of us bringing you money every day? You ought to have a pile by this time.” “So I might if all that were owing me would pay up,” retorted the landlord. As Ben was one of his debtors, this was felt to be a fair hit, and there was a laugh at his expense. “P’r’aps Trafton means himself,” suggested Ben by way of diversion. “I wish I did,” said the fisherman. “Well, I may be rich some time; stranger things have happened.” “I can’t think of any stranger thing than that,” said Ben. And the laugh now was at Trafton’s expense, but he didn’t seem to mind it. By this time the general curiosity was aroused. “Who is this rich man you’re talkin’ about, Trafton?” asked Sam Cummings. “The hermit of the cliff,” answered the fisherman. There was a general rustle of surprise. “What reason have you for saying that?” asked Mr. Jones, the landlord. By this time, however, John Trafton began to suspects that he had been imprudent and he answered with a mysterious shake of the head: “I’ve no call to tell you that, but I’ve got my reasons.” “Can’t you tell us, John?” asked Ben Barton. “I might, but I won’t; but I stand by what I’ve said.” “Doesn’t your boy do errands for the hermit?” asked the landlord. “Suppose he does?” “And he goes into the hermit’s cave?” “Perhaps he does and perhaps he doesn’t.” “I know he does, for I was on the beach a day or two ago and I see him a-climbin’ the ladder and goin’ in,” said Ben Barton. “You’ll have to ask him about that,” said the fisherman. “Whereabouts is his cave?” asked the stranger, who had listened intently to what had been said. One of the party described its location fully. “Then I’ve seen it,” said the other. “I was walking on the beach this morning and I wondered what the ladder was for.” He asked various questions about the hermit and his mode of life, which excited no wonder, as the curiosity about the hermit was shared by all. John Trafton allowed himself to say one thing more that increased this feeling.