He stared more intently at the man,
casting about in his memory for a clue to his identity.
It came to him that the person he had in mind was a
fellow named Gafferson, who had kept an impoverished
and down-at-the-heels sort of hotel and general store on
the road from Belize to Boon Town, in British Honduras.
Yes, it undoubtedly was Gafferson. What on earth
was he doing here? Thorpe gave but brief consideration
to this problem. It was of more immediate importance
to recall the circumstances of his contact with the man.
He had made Gafferson's poor shanty of an hotel his
headquarters for the better part of a month--the base
of supplies from which he made numerous prospecting
tours into the mountains of the interior. Had he paid
his bill on leaving? Yes, there was no doubt about that.
He could even recall a certain pity for the unbusiness-like
scale of charges, and the lack of perception of opportunity,
which characterized the bill in question. He remembered
now his impression that Gafferson would never do any good.
It would be interesting to know what kind of an impression he,
in turn, had produced on his thriftless host. At any rate,
there was no good reason why he should not find out.
He opened the door and went in.
The gardener barely looked up from his occupation,
and drew aside to let the newcomer pass with no sign
of a gesture toward his cap.
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