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Issy's description of this interview, given to a dozen townspeople within the next three hours, was as follows: "Mr. Williams," said the wide-eyed Issy, "he comes postin' into the waitin' room, his foreman with him. Williams marches over to Cap'n Sol and he says, 'Berry, he says, 'are you responsible for the way that house of yours is moved? "Cap'n Sol bowed and smiled.
And valor except of the imaginative brand was not Issy's strong point. "There, there, Sam!" he explained, smiling crookedly. "You mustn't mind me. I'm sort of nervous, I guess. And you mustn't hop up and down in a boat that way. You set still and I'll fetch the compass." He stumbled across the cockpit and disappeared in the dusk of the cabin. Finding that compass took a long time.
Two barefooted little figures danced provokingly in the roadway and two shrill voices chanted in derision: "Is McKay Is McKay Makes the Injuns run away! "Scalped anybody lately, Issy?" Alas for the indiscretions of youth! The tale of Issy's early expedition in search of scalps and glory was known from one end of Ostable County to the other. It had made him famous, in a way.
No Jerushy! a love story! Why, Issy! I didn't know you was in love. Who's the lucky girl? Send me an invite to your weddin', won't you?" Issy's face was a fiery red. He tore the precious volume from its desecrator's hand, losing the pictured cover in the struggle. "You you pesky fool!" he shouted. "You mind your own business." The blacksmith roared in glee. "Oh, ho!" he cried.
And he hired Issy because well, because "most folks in East Harniss are alike and you can always tell about what they'll say or do. Now Issy's different. The Lord only knows what HE'S likely to do, and that makes him interestin' as a conundrum, to guess at. He kind of keeps my sense of responsibility from gettin' mossy, Issy does." "Issy," hailed Mr. Phinney, "has the Cap'n got here yet?"
Maybe you've noticed that Issy's flow of conversation ain't what you'd call a trickle," he added, turning to Albert. Albert had noticed it. "But," he asked, "what makes Rachel Mrs. Ellis so cheerful this morning? Does she know that Mr. Keeler will be back at work? How does she know? She hasn't seen him, has she?" "No," replied the captain. "She ain't seen him. Nobody sees him, far's that goes.
"Now, Cap'n Lote," he added, as they rose from the table, "you stay right to home here for the rest of the day. I'll hustle back to the office and see if Issy's importance has bust his b'iler for him. So-long, Al. See you pretty soon. Got some things to talk about, you and I have. . . . Yes, yes."
Price, still foaming, strode toward the window; Albert laughingly followed him. "What's the matter?" repeated Laban. "There's enough noise for a sewin' circle. Be still, Is, can't you, for a minute. Al, what's the trouble?" "Issy's been talking about his face," explained Albert, soberly. "I ain't neither.
The heroines of these dreams were beautiful and mysterious strangers, not daughters of Cape Cod clergymen. But now, thanks to Issy's mischievous hints, his feelings were in a puzzled and uncomfortable state. He was astonished to find that he did not relish the idea of Helen's being particularly interested in Ed Raymond.
Captain Sol was sitting in the ticket office, with the door shut. On the platform, forlornly sprawled upon the baggage truck, was Issy McKay, the picture of desolation. He started nervously when he heard Simeon's step. As yet Issy's part in the Bartlett-Higgins episode was unknown to the townspeople. Sam and Gertie had considerately kept silence.
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