“Don’t you think we could hire some one 82 to come in and get our meals?” asked the minister.
“I’m ’feared that ain’t possible. And even if it was it would cause more talk about town. There’s enough gossip aboard the old salvation craft to sink her now, beam-fust.”
“Why should it cause talk for some one to take care of the house for us, and get our meals?”
“Why should any of this gab be floating round at all? There ain’t no sense in it, but that don’t stop it. Mack,”––the Captain leaned eagerly toward his young friend,––“don’t tell me nothing you don’t want to, but what happened up to Jim Fox’s house that night you ate there the last time? Things ain’t been going smooth since then. I hear he acted mighty queer. Was you to blame for it in any way?”
“Did Harold Fox talk to you before he left?”
“No. Harold ain’t the gossiping kind.”
“Some one has evidently been talking to you.”
“Ain’t denying that, Mack. There’s plenty 83 of ’em in this burg that’s ready to talk, and I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind, not to get some of the gab. The doctor told more than he ought, I guess.”
“It might pay him to take a few lessons in keeping his mouth closed,” impatiently commented Mr. McGowan.
“I know, Mack. I reckon he was pumped pretty hard.”