"Young?"

"I had that impression. By the way, Mr. Jones, what and where is Green
Fancy?"

Jones looked over his shoulder, and his guest's glance followed. The
man near the entrance had been joined by another.

"Well," began the landlord, lowering his voice, "it's about two mile
and a half from here, up the mountain. It's a house and people live in
it, same as any other house. That's about all there is to say about
it."

"Why is it called Green Fancy?"

"Because it's a green house," replied Jones succinctly.

"You mean that it is painted green?"

"Exactly. Green as a gourd. A man named Curtis built it a couple o'
year ago and he had a fool idee about paintin' it green. Might ha'
been a little crazy, for all I know. Anyhow, after he got it finished
he settled down to live in it, and from that day to this he's never
been off'n the place. He didn't seem sick or anything, so we can't
make out his object in shuttin' himself up in the house an' seldom
ever stickin' his nose outside the door."

"Isn't it possible that he isn't there at all?"