The Mystery of the Locks

by E. W. Howe

Tug had not taken his huge eye from Dorris's face since entering, except to look at the poison; but he removed it as Mrs. Wedge came in to prepare the table for the evening meal.

Dorris was a good deal like Tug in the particular that he did not sleep much at night, but he slept soundly when the morning light came up over the woods to chase away the shadows which were always looking into his window; therefore he frequently ate his breakfast at noon, and his supper at midnight.

There was a roast of beef, a tea urn, a pat of butter, and a loaf of bread, on the platter carried by the housekeeper, while Betty followed with the cups and saucers, and the potatoes, the napkins, and the sugar.

"I am obliged to you for your good opinion," Dorris said, while the cloth was being laid, "and if you will remain to supper with me, we will become better acquainted."

It occurred to Silas that Dorris looked at Tug, in spite of his politeness, as he might look at an amusing dog that had been taught to catch a bacon rind from off his nose at the word of command, and wondered that Tug felt so much at home as he seemed to; for he was watching the arrangements for supper with great eagerness. Silas was sure the invitation to supper would be accepted, too, for Tug had never refused an invitation of any kind in his life, except invitations to be a man and go to work, which the people were always giving him.

At a look from Dorris, Mrs. Wedge went out, and soon returned with additional plates, besides other eatables that seemed to be held in reserve; and during her absence the master had been placing the chairs, so that by the time the table was arranged, the three men were ready to sit down, which they did without further ceremony. Among other things Mrs. Wedge brought in a number of bottles and glasses, which were put down by the side of Dorris, and these now attracted the aim of Tug.

"If you offer us drink," he said, "I give you fair warning that we will accept, and get drunk, and disgrace you. We haven't a particle of decency, have we, you scoundrel?"

This, accompanied by a prodigious poke in the ribs, was addressed to Silas Davy, who had been sitting meekly by, watching the proceedings. Tug had a habit of addressing Silas as "his dear old scoundrel," and "his precious cut-throat," although a milder man never lived; and he intently watched Dorris as he opened one of the bottles and filled three of the glasses. Two of them were placed before Tug and Silas, and though Silas only sipped at his, Tug drank off the liquor apportioned to him greedily. This followed in rapid succession, until two of the bottles had been emptied, Dorris watching the proceedings with a queer satisfaction.

He also helped them liberally to the roast beef and the gravy, and the potatoes, and the bread and butter, to say nothing of the pickles and olives; but Tug seemed to prefer the liquor to the tea, for he partook of that very sparingly, though he was anxious to accept everything else offered; for he occasionally got up from the table to tramp heavily around the room, as if to settle that already eaten to make room for more.

Allan Dorris enjoyed the presence of the two men, and encouraged the oddities of each by plying them with spirits. Although the drink had little effect on Silas, who was very temperate, Tug paid tribute to its strength by opening his wide eye to its greatest extent, as if in wonder at his hospitable reception, and closing the other tighter, like a man who had concluded to give one side of his body a rest.