Carson was more accustomed
to travel in subways and sleeping-cars than by long motor drives, and by
the time Eastman was reached he was glad that the return drive would be
preceded by a hot luncheon.
"We won't go past the store," Richard explained, making a detour from
the main street of the town, regardless of the fact that he forsook a
good road for a poor one. "I don't want him to see me to-day."
He pressed upon his guest the best that the hotel afforded, then sent
him to the corner store with instructions to let nothing escape his
attention. "Though I don't need to tell you that," he added with a
laugh. "You'll see more in a minute than I should in a month."
Then he lighted a cigar--from his own case this time, though he strolled
in to see his friend the druggist when he had finished it, and bought of
him various other sundries. He did not venture to mention Benson to-day,
but the druggist did. Evidently Benson's imminent failure was the talk
of the town, and the regret, as well, of those who were not his rivals.
"Man can't succeed at a thing he picks up so late, and when he'd rather
do something else," volunteered the druggist.
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