“Yes, but then you had considerable cause. The hired girl next door—she sat next to my daughter—said she didn't blame you a mite.” (Somebody was on my side, anyhow.) “Now come in to supper.”
The next morning I was up at dawn: I had to get up at dawn because the omnibus made only one trip to the station, to catch the seven-o'clock train. I went by the eight-ten, but a little thing like that never makes any difference in Sheffield.
When the omnibus arrived it came on runners. Closer examination from the window of the cosey room—the bedroom was even more delightful—revealed a square furniture van covered on the outside with white canvas, the door being in the middle, like a box-car. I bade the dear old lady and her daughter good-by, opened the hall door and stood on the top step. The driver, a stout, fat-faced fellow, looked up with an inquiring glance.
“Nice morning,” I cried in my customary cheerful tone—the dear woman had wrought the change.
“You bet! Got over your mad?”
The explosion had evidently been heard all over the village.
“Yes,” I laughed, as I crawled in beside two other passengers.
“You was considerable het up last night, so Si was tellin' me,” remarked the passenger, helping me with one bag.
I nodded. Who Si might be was not of special interest, and then again the subject had now lost its inflammatory feature.
The woman made no remark; she was evidently one of the secretaries.