As we came into Hempfield the lights had begun to come out in the houses; a belated farmer in his lumber wagon rattled down the street. Men were going into the post office, for it was the hour of the evening mail; we had a whiff, at the corner, of the good common odour of cooking supper. So we stopped at the gate of the printing-office, and looked at each other, and felt abashed, did not know quite what to say, and were about to part awkwardly without saying anything when Nort seized me suddenly by the arm and rushed me into the office.
"Hello, Fergus!" he shouted as we came in at the door.
Fergus stood looking at him impassively, saying nothing at all. He had compromised himself once before that day by giving way to his emotions, and did not propose to be stampeded a second time.
But the old Captain had no such compunctions, and almost fell on Nort's neck.
"The prodigal is returned," he declared. "Nort, my boy, I want to read you my editorial on Theodore Roosevelt."
Just at this moment Ed Smith came in. I wondered and trembled at what might happen, but Nort was in his grandest mood.
"Hello, Ed!" he remarked carelessly. "Say, I've thought of an idea for making Tole, the druggist, advertise in the Star."
"You have?" responded Ed in a reasonably natural voice.
Thus we were rebundled, at least temporarily. I think of these events as a sort of diplomatic prelude for the real war which was to follow. I was the diplomat who lured Nort back to us with fine words, but old General Fergus was waiting there grimly at the cases, in full preparedness, to play his part. For this was not the final struggle, nor the most necessary for Nort. That was reserved for a simpler man than I am: that was left for Fergus.