"but Tip Pulsifer allowed that no fellow would have to come so far to
desert his wife."

"Tip ought to know," said I, "for he deserts his once a year,
regularly."

"He always comes back the next day," retorted Tim stoutly.

My brother has always been Tip's champion in his matrimonial
disagreements, and whenever Pulsifer flees across the mountain,
swearing terrible oaths that he will never return, Tim goes straight to
the clearing on the ridge and talks long and seriously to the deserted
wife about her duty.

[Illustration: Swearing terrible oaths that he will never return.]

But there was reason in Tip's contention regarding Weston. Indeed,
from Tim's account of events, I could see that the store had very
thoroughly threshed out the whole case and that the problem was not one
that could be solved by abstract reasoning. There was only one person
to solve it, and that was Robert Weston himself.

I knew enough of the world to know that it was not an unheard-of thing
for a man to settle for a time in an out-of-the-way village. I knew
enough of men to understand that he might consider it nobody's business
why he cared to live among us. I had enough sense of humor to see that
he might find amusement in enveloping himself in mystery and sparring
with the sly sages of the store and tavern. By right I should have
stood by and watched the little game; I should have encouraged Isaac
Bolum and Henry Holmes to apply the interrogating probe; I should have