“Seems to me I smell rubber burning,” broke in Mr. Gooch, sniffing vigorously. His eye fell upon the cigar that Mr. Sikes was holding between his thumb and forefinger.
Mr. Sikes took umbrage. He stepped forward and held the cigar close to Mr. Gooch’s nose.
“Smell it,” he said, as the other jerked his head back in surprise. “That’s as good a cigar as you can get anywhere on earth for ten cents—and it only costs five.”
“I—I am not a smoker,” Mr. Gooch made haste to explain, being a trifle overcome by Joseph’s far from ingratiating manner.
“Well, I’m just telling you,” announced Joseph, inserting the cigar between his back teeth with a somewhat challenging abruptness. “You say you’re Ollie’s relations?”
“Yes; I am his sister. I want to see him at once. Where is he?”
“Well, I guess if you are his sister you’d better come into the sitting-room and take your things off,” said Mr. Sikes grudgingly. “I’ve heard him speak of some folks of his living over in Hopkinsville.” He led the way into the sitting-room. “Make yourselves to home. I guess maybe Ollie will be down after while, unless he’s gone to bed. He’s all wore out. And I might as well tell you first as last,” he went on pointedly, “he’s occupying the only spare bedroom they’ve got in the house, so I don’t see how I can ask you to stay the night.”
Mrs. Gooch paused in the act of unwinding a thick scarf from her neck. She gave Mr. Sikes a “look.”
“Are you the undertaker?” she demanded.
“The—the what? Good gosh, no!”