"I'm not goin' to invite Mr. Crawley," said his wife firmly.
"Well, then, what air you givin' the shindig fer? I thought it was fer the purpose o' squarin' things regardin' them two."
"We are under no obligations to 'Gene. Besides, he's no gentleman. He ain't fit to step inside the parlor."
"I noticed he stepped into one t'other night, all right," grinned Mr. Harbaugh.
"I s'pose you are defending him," snapped his wife.
"'Pears to me he c'n keer fer himse'f purty well. He don't need no defendin'. But, say—don't you think he'll rare up a bit if he don't git a bid to the party?"
"Well, he won't take it out o' me," she spoke, meaningly.
"Course not," he exclaimed. "That's the tarnation trouble of it; he'll take it out o' me." Mr. Harbaugh involuntarily glanced over his shoulder as though expecting Crawley to appear in the doorway as mysteriously as he had appeared on the night of the "meeting."
"It don't make any difference. You'll have to stand it, that's all. I'm not goin' to have that low-down fool in my house," was Mrs. Harbaugh's parting shot. The result was that Crawley was not invited—he had not expected to be—and Harbaugh felt obliged to "dodge" him carefully for the next two or three months.
The "Harbaugh oyster supper" was the talk of an expectant community for a full and busy week. Justine Sherrod apparently was the only person in the whole neighborhood who did not know the inside facts concerning the affair. Generally, it was said to be a "mighty nice thing in the Harbaughs," but every one interested knew that the influence of Eugene Crawley prompted the good intentions.