“I dassent wait,” said “Soapy,” with a furtive glance over his shoulder. “If he sees me, I'll probably have to change my mind.”
“Who is it, Auntie?” called out a clear voice from within.
“'Soapy' Shay,” replied the visitor himself.
“Mr. Landover will be here presently, Mr. Shay,—” began the obstacle in the doorway.
“I guess not,” broke in “Soapy,” forgetting himself so far as to wink. “I expect you haven't heard the news, ma'am. He's had his nose put out of joint.”
“Good heavens! His nose out of—”
“Come in, Soapy,” cried Ruth.
“Ruth, my dear,—do you know who—do you know what—”
“Sure she knows,” again interrupted “Soapy,” unembarrassed. “I'm not after anybody's jewels, Mrs. Spofford,—and besides which I am the principal candidate for Sheriff of this bailiwick. You don't suppose a man who's running for the office of sheriff on Mr. A. A. Percival's ticket is going to lift anything before election, do you? Besides which I've made up my mind to be straight as long as I'm on this island, and if I'm elected,—which I will be,—I'm going to see that nobody else does anything crooked. Mr. A.A. Percival is a wise guy,—a mighty wise guy. Says he to me, 'Soapy, you are one of the most expert—'”
“Come inside, Soapy,” called out Ruth.