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On the damp Spring breeze the sound of a husky voice was wafted up the street and into the old Day house. "Hello!" grunted Uncle Jason, "who's this singin' bird a-comin' up the hill? Tain't never Walky a-singin' like that, is it?" "It's Walky; but it ain't him singin'," chuckled Marty. "Huh?" queried Uncle Jason. "It's Lem Parraday's whiskey that's doin' the singin'," explained the boy.
And he looks like a fellow that's not to be trusted. There's more than Joe Bodley around that hotel who will bear watching, I guess." "I will not go down to Lem Parraday's again," sighed Hopewell. "I I felt that I should earn all the extra money possible. You see, my little girl may have to return to Boston for treatment." "It's a mean shame!" muttered the civil engineer. "Oh!
Janice asked, as she turned the automobile into the head of High Street. "Yes, ma'am. That is, if I don't find him at Lem Parraday's." "Oh, Mr. Trimmins!" exclaimed Janice, earnestly. "Look for him at the house first. And don't you go near Lem Parraday's, either." "Wal!" drawled the man. "I s'pose you air right, Miss." "I'll drive you right down to the cove," Janice said.
"I don't want to see liquor sold here; but I think we'll be more successful if we oppose each license as it comes up." "What chance had you to oppose Lem Parraday's license?" demanded the girl, sharply. "Well! I allow that was sprung on us sudden. But Cross Moore was interested in it, too." "Somebody will always be particularly interested in the granting of the license.
"Sure enough!" went on Walky, "that's another thing that kin honestly be laid to Lem Parraday's openin' that bar at the Inn. That's where Jack got the liquor that twisted his brain, that led him astray, that made him a thief Jefers-pelters! sounds jest like 'The Haouse That Jack Built, don't it? But poor Jack Besmith has sartainly built him a purty poor haouse.
It was Lem Parraday's voice. They had mounted the side porch of the Inn and when Janice opened her eyes she was in the barroom. The proprietor of the Inn slammed to the door against the thunderous rush of the breaking storm. The rain dashed in torrents against the house.
"D'ye know," jerked out Walky, with his head on one side and his eyes screwed up, "that I b'lieve Josephus agrees with ye?" "Ho! ho!" laughed Marty. "Was you fresh from Lem Parraday's bar when you backed the old feller over the dock?" "Wal, I'd had a snifter," drawled Walky, his eyes twinkling.
I believe Marm Parraday's on the rampage," exclaimed Joe Bodley, with a silly smile on his face. The door from the hall flew open. In the dusky opening the woman's lean and masculine form looked wondrous tall; her hollow eyes burned with unnatural fire; her thin and trembling lips writhed pitifully.
"Marty Day!" cried Janice, clasping her hands, "I didn't notice it before. But you even talk differently from the way you used to. Since the bar at the Inn has been open I believe you boys have got hold of an entirely new brand of slang." "Huh?" said Marty. "Why, it is awful! I had been thinking that Mr. Parraday's license only made a difference to himself and poor Marm Parraday and his customers.
The girl could not make out what the trouble with him was, and she was puzzled. "I guess you forgot I told you I was moving," he said hesitatingly. "Oh, I remember! And you've moved up into this neighborhood?" "Not exactly. I am going to lodge with the Threads, but I shall continue to eat Marm Parraday's cooking." "The Threads?" murmured Janice. "You know. The little, crooked-backed man.
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