Conversation across the aisle was brisk, and its subjects were many and
varied. Mr. Graves became aware, more or less against his will, that
the person called "Cap'n" was, if not a leader in politics and local
affairs, still one whose opinions counted. Some of those opinions, as
given, were pointed and dryly descriptive; as, for instance, when a
certain town-meeting candidate was compared to a sculpin--"with a big
head that sort of impresses you, till you get close enough to realize it
HAS to be big to make room for so much mouth." Graves, who was fond
of salt water fishing, knew what a sculpin was, and appreciated the
comparison.

The conductor entered the car and stopped to collect a ticket from his
new passenger. It was evident that he, too, was acquainted with the
latter.

"Evening, Cap'n," he said, politely. "Train's a little late to-night."

"It is--for to-night's train," was the prompt response, "but if it keeps
on at the rate it's travelin' now, it'll be a little early for to-morrow
mornin's, won't it?"

The conductor laughed. "Guess you're right," he said. "This is about as
wet a storm as I've run through since I've been on the road. If we get
to Provincetown without a washout we'll be lucky... Well, we've made
another hitch. So far, so good."

The brakeman swung open the door to shout, "Denboro! Denboro!" the
conductor picked up his lantern and hurried away, the locomotive
whistled hoarsely, and the train hiccoughed alongside another little
station. Mr. Graves, peering through his window, imagined that here