CHAPTER XVI

SOME LETTERS


When Jean Forette, whose month was not quite up and who had not yet
completed arrangements for his new position, alighted from the Shore
Express at Lakeside and made his way-afoot and not in a machine - to the
Three Pines, the picturesque figure of the Southern gentleman followed.

"I wonder," mused Colonel Ashley, "whether he takes Scotch Highballs or
absinthe, and what dope he mixes with it? Absinthe is rather hard to
get out here, I should imagine, but they might have a green brand of
whiskey they'd sell for it. But that Frenchman ought to know the
genuine stuff. However, we'll see."

Carrying his limp, leather bag, which had served him in such good stead
when he entered the lavatory, the colonel slouched silently along the
road. It was close to midnight, and there would be no other trains to
the shore that day.

The lights of the Three Pines glowed in pleasant and inviting fashion
across the sandy highway. Out in front stood several cars, for the
tavern was one much patronized by summer visitors, and was a haven of
refuge, a "life-saving station," as it had been dubbed by those who
fancied they were much in need of alcoholic refreshment.

Jean Forette entered, and Colonel Ashley, waiting a little and making