“Tough on horses,” said Mr. Link.
“Very,” said Mr. Sikes.
General conversation, after this laconic start, died suddenly. Everybody stood and looked at everybody else for a few moments, and then Mr. Sikes had a happy inspiration. He began shoveling coal from the scuttle into the already blushing stove, making a great deal of racket. The others watched him intently, as if they never had seen anything so interesting as a stove being stuffed with fuel.
“And all sorts of live stock,” added Mr. Link, apparently startled into speech by the closing of the stove door.
“From Hopkinsville, did you say?” inquired Mr. Sage politely, turning to Mr. Gooch.
“Yes,” said Mr. Gooch succinctly.
“Ah, a—er—very enterprising town—very enterprising. Ahem!”
“Where is it?” asked Mrs. Sage, who by this time had seated herself in a rocking-chair, with her rubber boots well advanced toward the stove.
“I guess you haven’t lived in this part of the country very long,” said Mr. Gooch condescendingly.
“Oh, haven’t I? I’ve been here nearly six months—one hundred and thirty-two days, to be exact.” She glanced at the clock on the bracket between the windows. “Lacking two hours and twelve minutes,” she went on. “We came down on the local that’s due here at 9:14, but it was twenty-eight minutes late.”