Samuel Hopkins Adams

“ Sailor Smith, sturdy and white, entered and greeted Kent courteously.
“Mr. Dennett was saying,” remarked Kent, “that you know something of the history of Hedgerow House, as I believe they call it.”
“They call it!” repeated the old sailor. “Who calls it? If you mean the Blair place, that’s Hogg’s Haven, that is! You can’t wipe out that name while there’s a man living as knew the place at its worst. Old Captain Hogg built it and lived in it and died in it. And if there’s a fryin’-pan in hell, the devil is fryin’ bacon out of old Hogg to-day for the things he done in that house.” ”

“ His father had brought him to their place on Sundayman’s Creek, and there he was kept in semi-seclusion, visited from time to time by his young wife, who helped to care for him.
“That’s the story they tell,” commented the Elder; “but some folks has got suspicions.”
“It’s a prevalent complaint,” murmured Kent, “and highly contagious.”
Dennett stared. “My own suspicions,” he proceeded firmly, “is that the young feller hasn’t got no more consumption than you have. I think old Blair has got him here to keep him out of the papers.”
“Publicity is not to Mr. Blair’s taste, then?” ”

“ They says he pays Town Titbits a thousand dollars a year to let young Blair’s name alone. I don’t believe the old man would hardly stop short of murder to keep his name out of print. He’s kind o’ loony on the subject.”
“You’ve been to his country place?”
“Only wunst. Mostly they have one o’ them scientific plumber fellers from Boston.” The Elder’s tone was as essence of gall and wormwood. “Wunst I had a job there, though, an’ I seen young Blair moonin’ around the grounds with a man nurse.”
“Quite a place, I hear,” suggested Kent. ”