“I’m going to look into that root-cellar business. I want to have the place thoroughly cleaned out, anyhow.”
The boys were going in to supper when we drove up. Charley came to take the horses, and Owen greeted him:
“Well, how’s everything?”
“Oh, all right,” answered Charley indifferently, as he started to loosen the tugs. “Nothin’s happened since you folks went away, only the old root cellar’s caved in.”
Speech was impossible. Owen and I stood as if petrified, looking at each other. We turned to go up to the house. I felt as though some wretched fate were making game of us. As we entered the door, Owen spoke:
“Esther”—he was very serious—“don’t say a word or betray any interest whatever in this matter. After supper is over, I’ll go up to investigate.”
Talk about the skeleton at a feast! There were sixteen horrid, grinning things around the table that night, besides a few that Mrs. Morton had overlooked.
Mrs. Bohm was whiter than usual and very quiet. Old Bohm was in high spirits. We were scarcely seated before he declared it “a damn shame” that the old root cellar had to cave in.
We showed a little surprise, but affected unconcern. Playing the role assigned to me, I remarked indifferently that we never used it, anyhow, and with this Bohm cheerfully agreed.