The host's jaw dropped. It was odd that his face could be so expressive, masked as it was by a bushy growth of red beard, evidently once of fiery tint, but now so veined with grey that the effect was quenched to a degree. Perhaps because all its indicia were of the conventional type their significance was easily discerned. His mouth, cavernous amidst the beard, stood open in readily interpreted dismay. His small brown eyes hung with a persistent appeal on the eyes of the stranger. His head bent forward stiffly, with an intent, expectant waiting. He uttered not a syllable.
"Great Scott! They all look as if they had seen a ghost!" thought the amazed Lloyd.
The next moment he felt a sudden touch on his knee, and turning sharply in his chair, perceived the old woman's tremulous claw bespeaking attention as she leaned forward toward him from her chimney corner. Her cap frills quivered in her agitation; her face was deathly pale. "Stranger," she said solemnly, "we make vinegar, an' sell it—an' not a thing else. Vinegar—vinegar—sell it to the stores in town."
Lloyd stared. He felt as if he were in a nightmare. Yet he could recall no nightmare that had ever exerted so great a strain on his mental endowments.
"Vinegar?" he said with a forced laugh. "Well, I don't take much stock in vinegar. I ain't one of the sour kind. Vinegar ain't good to drink. I couldn't pledge your health in that, lydy. With all of them fine fruits I should think you might make something better than vinegar."
The host spoke up acridly.
"Mam," he addressed the old dame, "you jes' hesh up." His voice was husky, as if he spoke with an effort—hasty, as if he scarcely knew what to say.
Lloyd turned upon him with a sudden flare of anger. "I don't want to call a man a cad in his own house," he flamed. "But the lydy will talk as she pleases while I'm aboard. I'd oodles rather talk to her than to you, sir."
The old woman had evidently lost her poise—she cast an amazed, affrighted glance upon her son. Then she clumsily sought to repair the damage that she fancied she had done. "Dried apples, stranger, an' dried peaches. We uns cut an' sell 'em ter the store—in town. Dried apples an' peach-leather."
"Very praiseworthy. But dried apples ain't the best thing that can come out of an orchard," Lloyd began, but the host cut him short.