undoubtedly was, he somehow got into the inner confidences of all sorts
of men in a way that made them give him an inkling of anything that was
going on for the mere love of him; and thus Yates often received
valuable assistance from his acquaintances which other reporters could
not get for money.

The New Yorker found the professor sitting on a bench by the
customhouse, chatting with the officer, and gazing at the rapidly
flowing broad blue river in front of them.

"I have got a man," said Yates, "who will take us out into the
wilderness in about an hour's time. Suppose we explore the town. I
expect nobody will run away with the tent till we come back."

"I'll look after that," said the officer; and, thanking him, the two
friends strolled up the street. They were a trifle late in getting
back, and when they reached the tavern, they found Bartlett just on the
point of driving home. He gruffly consented to take them, if they did
not keep him more than five minutes loading up. The tent and its
belongings were speedily placed on the hay rack, and then Bartlett
drove up to the tavern and waited, saying nothing, although he had been
in such a hurry a few moments before. Yates did not like to ask the
cause of the delay; so the three sat there silently. After a while
Yates said as mildly as he could:

"Are you waiting for anyone, Mr. Bartlett?"

"Yes," answered the driver in a surly tone. "I'm waiting for you to go
in fur that jug. I don't suppose you filled it to leave it on the
counter."