to the street where Peter and the little candidate had left him. This
street came as a surprise to him: Hunston's best "residence section"
beyond doubt. It was really pretty, spaciously wide and flanked by
handsome old trees. Houses rose at increasingly long intervals as one
got away from the town; and they were for the most part charming-looking
houses, set in large lawns and veiled from public scrutiny by much fine
foliage.

Varney cast about for somebody who would give him his bearings, and had
not far to look.

Puffing stolidly on the butt of an alleged cigar, into which he had
stuck a sharpened match as a visible means of support, a boy who was
probably not so old as he looked sat upon the curbstone at the corner,
and claimed the world for his cuspidor. He was an ill-favored runt of a
boy, with a sedate manner and a face somewhat resembling a hickory-nut.

Varney, approaching, asked him where Mr. Hare lived. Without turning
around, or desisting an instant from the tending of his cigar (which,
indeed, threatened a decease at any moment), the boy replied:

"Acrost an' down, one half a block. Little yaller house wit' green
blinds and ornings. Yer could n't miss it. Yer party left dere ten
minutes ago, dough."

"What party?" asked Varney puzzled.

"Tall big party wit' yaller hat, stranger here. Seen him beatin' it out
the street for the road, him and Hare. Goin' some, they was."