"You're in Canada now."
He looked his bewilderment, so I hunted up Dick. I detailed the
situation. "He doesn't know the race," I concluded. "Soon he will be
trying to get information out of the agent. Let's be on hand."
We were on hand. The tourist, his face very red, his whiskers very
white and bristly, marched importantly to the agent's office. The
latter comprised also the post-office, the fish depot, and a general
store. The agent was for the moment dickering _in re_ two pounds
of sugar. This transaction took five minutes to the pound. Mr. Tourist
waited. Then he opened up. The agent heard him placidly, as one who
listens to a curious tale.
"What I want to know is, where's that boat?" ended the tourist.
"Couldn't say," replied the agent.
"Aren't you the agent of this company?"
"Sure," replied the agent.
"Then why don't you know something about its business and plans and
intentions?"
"Couldn't say," replied the agent.
"Do you think it would be any good to wait for the _North Star_?
Do you suppose they can be coming? Do you suppose they've altered the
schedule?"
"Couldn't say," replied the agent.
"When is the next boat through here?"
I listened for the answer in trepidation, for I saw that another
"Couldn't say" would cause the red-faced tourist to blow up. To my
relief, the agent merely inquired,--
"North or south?"
"South, of course. I just came from the north. What in the name of
everlasting blazes should I want to go north again for?"
"Couldn't say," replied the agent.
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