"Quit that foolin'," growled Peter, in time to prevent trouble.
At that moment Ezra Tweedie slunk into the store, casting glances of fear behind at every step as though some dreadful monster was on his trail. He shut the door carefully, then went to the stove, held out his hands to be warmed, shivered, and sighed. His face was drawn and white, and the telltale circles beneath his eyes told of a sleepless night.
"Mornin', Ezra," said Peter, cordially.
"Good morning, gentlemen," replied Ezra, in a weak voice, as he glanced furtively about.
"You're not feeling well, Mr. Tweedie?" inquired Mr. Blake, sympathetically.
"No," replied Ezra, "I—I'm slightly indisposed, but nothing serious—nothing serious."
"And how is Mrs. Tweedie after all the work she has done?" Mr. Blake continued. Ezra shuddered and coughed.
"She is—a—somewhat nervous," he replied, hesitatingly.
"I don't wonder," blurted Sam, "but I guess she's kinder tickled over the big hit the show made, ain't she?"