Scarcely had they stepped out of the train when they were approached by a shabby, unshaven man, who had evidently also just alighted. They had not seen him on the train. He took off an old felt hat when he addressed them, which gave an unpleasant impression of fear and surveillance. Perhaps Pee-wee did not notice this but it seemed to jar his friends. Pee-wee did, however, notice that the man’s hair was very short; it seemed all bristly, as if it had been cropped and was just starting to grow out. Besides this, his nose was broken across the middle, which did not exactly improve his looks.

“Do yez know where Skimper’s place is?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“That’s the Snailsdale House,” Pee-wee said; “it’s the third house up the road.”

The man seemed to hesitate as if he did not know whether to ask more or not; he seemed rather bewildered. Then he backed away, with that same air of uncertainty and subservience. Perhaps Ray and Fuller would not have noticed this if he had not been attired so shabbily.

“Probably a tramp,” said Ray.

Pee-wee was too disgruntled to say anything.

The three adventurers strode up the lawn, Pee-wee looking very sheepish. As for Fuller Bullson, he looked as if he were about to demand the surrender of a fortress. It was evening and the old ladies had retreated before the legion host of dew and dampness. But one solitary figure sat in a rocking chair on the porch. It reminded Pee-wee of his first meeting with Hope and of the adventurous episode of the rocking chair. Her little feet looked very dainty as she pushed the porch with her toes, and she seemed very lonesome.

“Oh, it’s Walter,” she ejaculated, appearing not to notice his two friends.

“These are my two new pals, Fuller Bullson and Raysor Rackette,” Pee-wee said, “and we’ve come to stay here a week, because we got to because we kind of drew lots to come here.”

Hope looked incredulously and inquiringly at Ray and Fuller.

“He is right, Miss Stillmore,” said Fuller. “Strange as it may seem we’re here because we’re here. We bought three railroad tickets in Westover without looking at them first. We picked them at random. Then we counted the third house up the road and here we are. We’re on a week’s jaunt. Can you accommodate us?” Hope continued to stare from one to the other, incredulously.

“You have a nice place here,” said Ray, “trees, grass, sky and everything. We ought to be able to bat out some fun here. What do you say, Scout? Any people?”

“Nothing but a lot of poky old ladies,” said Hope; “and all they do is knit; it’s perfectly dreadful. The only boy that was here has gone—went yesterday. There’s absolutely nothing to do here. The old ladies are going Saturday and Mrs. Skimper is going to close the season. If you really want rooms there are oceans of them. Everybody has been going away. Mother and I are the last of our race. I suppose you’re having just wonderful times at the farm. I can’t see what you ever came away from there for.”

“You came away yourself, you know, Miss Stillmore,” said Ray.

It was not difficult to get board at the Snailsdale House then and the three adventurers engaged two rooms. Pee-wee had hoped that his companions would regret this ghastly enterprise and return to the farm with him. At heart he was quite as much a quitter as poor Hope had ever been. He felt that this horrible sequel of all his fine hopes and plans was no joke. Ray and Fuller on the contrary seemed to regard it as a fine joke.

Instead of talking about going home after supper they went into the sitting room and chatted with several ancient ladies who seemed immensely pleased with them. Hope seemed immensely pleased too.

The three rounded up a sweet old lady in a lace cap and pressed her into a card game, much to Pee-wee’s disgust. Fuller had the old lady for a partner and called her pard. She seemed greatly amused at the college adventures which he and Ray casually recited. Hope was confirmed in her originally unfounded conviction that the two were perfectly lovely.

Pee-wee looked at the pictures in a six months’ old magazine till he could not keep his eyes open, then went to bed. His friends still seemed to be having the time of their lives, and he could not understand this. He was resolved that he would go down to the farm in the morning. This crazy business had ceased to be a joke. That he himself had side-tracked the gayety from Skimper and should then go upon a great adventure and wind up at Skimper’s, seemed to him no joke at all.

“They’re crazy,” he said as he settled his head on his pillow. “If they think I’m going to stick around here for a week they’ve got another think. Gee whiz, I don’t call this having adventures. This place is dead and it doesn’t know it. I don’t care, I’m going home in the morning. If they think they can make a fool out of me, they can’t. That’s what I get for listening to them and not believing in destinations. They’re crazy, those fellers are. They needn’t think I’m going to stay here.”

Soon he fell asleep.