and you had better wait a little. Get hold of this. It's your supper."

Deringham recoiled a pace when a somewhat gory fowl struck him on the
knee, and then sat down on a pile of cedar-wood staring at the speaker.
"I wish to see Mr. Alton as soon as possible," he said.

The other man looked up again, and grinned. "You'd better not," said
he. "Harry Alton's a bit short in temper when he's busy, and if you're
peddling anything it would be better if you saw him after supper. Then
if you can't make a deal you can go on to-morrow. There's plenty good
straw in the barn."

Deringham was not especially flattered at being mistaken for a peddler,
nor had the prospect of sleeping on straw any great attraction for him,
but he had a sense of humour, and, being desirous of acquiring
information, took up the fowl.

"Do you put up every stranger who calls here, and give him a fowl for
supper? What am I to do with this one?" he said.

"Now, where did you come from?" said the other. "That's just what we
do. A fowl's not much for a man, anyway, and Harry will eat two of
them when he's hungry. What are you going to do with it? Well, you
can, pull the feathers off it, and fix it for cooking, unless you like
them better with their insides in."

Deringham gravely pulled out four or five feathers, and then, finding
it more difficult than he had expected, desisted. "Mr. Alton is
apparently not married," he said.