They tramped over to the village after breakfast one morning and found the agent seated on the porch before his little "office," by which name the front room of his cottage was dignified.

He was dressed in faded overalls, a checked shirt and a broad-brimmed cheap straw hat.

His "off foot," as he called it with grim humor, was painted green and his other foot was bare and might have been improved in color.

Both these extremities rested on the rail of the porch, while McNutt smoked a corncob pipe and stared at his approaching visitors with his disconcerting, protruding eyes.
"Good morning, Mr.McNutt," said Louise, pleasantly.

"We've come to see if you have any books to sell." The agent drew a long breath.