He was interrupted by the opening of the door. An icy draft swept down the length of the store.
"Shut that door!" roared out Marshal Crow.
But the door remained open. Whereupon every one craned his neck to see who was responsible. There was no one in sight.
"That's funny," said Newt Spratt. "I shut it tight when I came in awhile ago."
"Well, go and shut it again," ordered Mr. Crow. "Do you want us to freeze our ears right here in sight o' Jim Lamson's stove?"
Newt got up and kicked the door shut, saw that it was latched, and returned to his place near the stove. Marshal Crow, during his absence, had bettered his position. He had exchanged a seat on a box of soap for the cane-bottom chair Newt had been occupying.
"As I was sayin'," resumed Mr. Lamson, "the thermometer registered—"
Again the door flew open, banging against a barrel of sugar. With one accord the assembled group arose and peered at the open door.
"Well, now, that is funny," said Newt. "I latched her sure that time."
"Acts like ghosts," said Elmer K. Pratt, the photographer.