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The amazing difference between the storekeeper's well remembered appearance and that of his substitute grew more startling. As Cap'n Amazon stood there half stooping, leaning on his hairy fists, the picture rose in Lawford Tapp's mind of a pirate, cutlass in teeth and his sash full of pistols, swarming over the rail of a doomed ship.
"I only arrived this morning, and I wrote some time ago, asking if you could meet Stephen and me. You were with the Graysons then, but you didn't answer." "I forgot; I don't always answer letters. But who is the girl? Not Miss Grant?" "Helen Taunton. Do you know her?" Sylvia laughed. "The storekeeper's daughter!
Several members hurried by and up the stairs, some of them in their Sunday black; and the lobby above seemed, even to the storekeeper's unpractised eye, a trifle active for a woodchuck session. Mr. Duncan muttered something, and quickened his gait a little on the steps that led to the gallery. This place was almost empty.
The blood throbbed in his temples, and yet he sat there, trembling, despising himself, repeating that he might have had the courage if Jethro Bass had not bought the mortgage. The fear of the man had entered the storekeeper's soul. "Does it belong to that man over there?" asked Cynthia. "Yes." "I'll take it to him, Daddy," and she held out her hand.
As he swung it forward, the single eye of a revolver held his. Beyond was Lounsbury. A queer tremor ran around the storekeeper's mouth. His nostrils swelled, and he wrinkled his forehead. "Sorry," he said drily, "but it's my bead." Sheer surprise, together with a lack of breath, made the other dumb. "Drop your gun," bade Lounsbury. Matthews' right hand loosed its hold.
The storekeeper's voice was soft, confidential, ingratiating. "Mr. Fraser and I have come to say that Mr. Matthews is wanted to serve as interpreter for Colonel Cummings." "Interpreter?" queried Matthews. A bullet-head made itself visible from behind a barrel. "Don't let him bluff y', Nick," called a voice. The other looked round. "Shut y' fly-trap, Babe," he commanded.
The gentleman apparently did not resent this, although he seemed in imminent danger of being upset. "How be you, Peleg? Er you know Will?" "No," said the gentleman. Mr. Bixby seized Mr. Wetherell under the elbow, and addressed himself to the storekeeper's ear. "Will, I want you to shake hands with Senator Peleg Hartington, of Brampton. This is Will Wetherell, Peleg, from Coniston you understand."
True, the roads were none too good at best, downright bad often enough. Well, that was just the sort of thing she was used to. And to-night there was need for haste. Great haste, thought the girl anxiously, as she remembered the look on her father's face when she and the storekeeper's wife had gotten him into bed. "I'll have the roads all to myself; that's one good thing."
"No, ma'am, he was not in the army; but he was employed in the storekeeper's department; they gave him the berth on account of his wound." "Well, go on, Martin." "I haven't much more to say, ma'am, I brought home my furs, sold them, and father helped me to spend the money as long as he was alive, and very welcome he was to his share.
Several members hurried by and up the stairs, some of them in their Sunday black; and the lobby above seemed, even to the storekeeper's unpractised eye, a trifle active for a woodchuck session. Mr. Duncan muttered something, and quickened his gait a little on the steps that led to the gallery. This place was almost empty.
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