HYANNIS PORT -- There are two sacred places in the Simmons Homestead Inn: the rows of floor-to-ceiling single-malt scotch bottles, stacked high on shelves like library books, and the low barn agleam with screaming red sports cars.
Despite these monuments to testosterone, the rooms of this sprawling captain's house are filled with frilly canopy beds and patchwork quilts. So it's no surprise that the lanky innkeeper, Bill Putman, is a man of contradictions: A Yale graduate and a former amateur race car driver, he likes his cars fast and his whiskey strong -- but also dotes on his wandering pack of 12 cats.
Putman is a warm, irreverent host who prefers the title ''Innkeeper of Sorts." A sign near the kitchen reads: ''Beer. Not just a breakfast drink." At the daily wine hour, Putman or one of his assistants hands around full mugs -- bulky coffee mugs, with enough wine to knock us under the living room sofa. Since we have dinner reservations, we sip demurely.
The bed-and-breakfast circuit sometimes takes itself very seriously, and Putman's laid-back waggishness makes for a relaxing weekend. He also allows visitors to bring their dogs, a boon for us. Molly, an aging retriever mix, is fascinated by the cats that seem to lurk everywhere, and is constantly tugging at her leash, tail wagging furiously, lunging toward the bushes after them.
Putman repeatedly tells us to treat Molly as we would at home, leaving her in our room while we go out or taking her with us. This is unusual: The few innkeepers who allow dogs still worry about barking and usually prohibit them from spending time alone in the rooms. While we never leave Molly behind this weekend, it would be a welcome choice in simmering weather.
Each of Putman's cheerful rooms is named after an animal and packed with replicas. We choose the Zebra Room, where black and white stripes cover the floor rugs and many of the paintings hang on deep blue walls with purple trim. Putman calls it his most romantic room; several marriage proposals have transpired there.
Dogs are allowed everywhere at the inn except the breakfast table, where Putman serves up scrambled eggs and sausage. Molly's attendance was even encouraged at the daily wine hour, and she was immediately besotted with a frisky Pomeranian belonging to one of Putman's helpers. We talked, and the Pomeranian trotted back and forth on the sofa.
While Molly is captivated by the pets, Rich is bewitched by the antique cars. They were what persuaded us that the inn might be the place to celebrate his mid-decade birthday -- the kind of event that doesn't confer the finality of a decade left behind, yet still manages to announce time's unforgiving march.
Rich regretted driving to Hyannis Port and missing an airport pickup by Putman in either the red Bentley or the Jaguar that both sit in the driveway. Inside Toad Hall, his museum adjacent to the inn, Putman has packed five dozen cherry-red sports cars. Named for the ''Wind in the Willows" character who loved the newly invented motorcar, Toad Hall holds row after row of automotive art that challenges Americans' bigger-is-ever-better road mentality. Has any 10-year-old ever watched an SUV rumble by and thought, ''Cool"?
The oldest car is a 1951 MG, one of those low-slung open rectangles that evoke Rudy Vallee and flappers. An earlier cousin of the MG touched off America's love affair with sports cars, when GIs returning from World War II brought some home from England.
There's a 1999 Mini -- not the updated BMW version skittering around American streets, but the original British model, about 2 feet shorter. A 1960 Lotus Elite is a single green speck in this sea of red -- it was a dream car that Putman had to have, and the one he could get his hands on happened to be green.
The car that Rich still talks about is an Austin Healey Frogeye Sprite. Named for the bulging headlights welded onto its hood, the roadster is short, cute, and elegantly simple. It's not only topless, it's trunkless, and the spartan dashboard has just a few gauges in its wood paneling.
Kathy, however, didn't even make it as far as the seat Putman has dubbed, according to his own demographic tally, the ''Bored Wives Chair." Instead, she found her own place: inside the inn, curled up with a book.
Kathleen Burge can be reached at kburge@globe.com, Rich Barlow at rbarlow.81@alum.dartmouth.org.
