I want to find out
things for myself. I can speak French as good as most of 'em, and I can
chew tobacco and swear with the best."
"You suhly are a wonder," said the old man admiringly. "How you fin' the
time I got no idee."
"Everything in its place, Berry, and everything in its time. I've got a
lot to do to-day, but it's in hand, and I don't have to fuss. You'll not
forget the wig--you'll bring it round yourself?"
"Suh. No snoopin' into the parcel then. But if you go to Manitou
to-night, how can you have that fiddler?"
"He comes at nine o'clock. I'll go to Manitou later. Everything in its
own time."
He was about to leave the shop when some one came bustling in. Berry was
between Ingolby and the door, and for an instant he did not see who it
was. Presently he heard an unctuous voice: "Ah, good day, good day, Mr.
Berry. I want to have my hair cut, if you please," it said.
Ingolby smiled. The luck was with him to-day so far. The voice belonged
to the Rev. Reuben Tripple, and he would be saved a journey to the manse.
Accidental meetings were better than planned interviews. Old Berry's
grizzled beard was bristling with repugnance, and he was about to refuse
Mr. Tripple the hospitality of the shears when Ingolby said: "You won't
mind my having a word with Mr.
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