“Dish yeah shore would ’a’ done Uncle Peter Stower good ef he could ’a’ heerd dis!” remarked Uncle Rufus, as he helped Mrs. MacCall in the kitchen. “He got kinder ole an’ crusty towards de las’, but he had lots ob pain.”
“’Twould be a marcy were the puir mon able to see a little of the brightness he’s brought about,” agreed the Scotch housekeeper. “But it’s nae gi’en ta any mon to see what gaes on when he’s depart!”
“’Ceptin’ he turns into a ghost,” Uncle Rufus observed.
“Hech! Hech! Dinna ye start any o’ that talk with the nicht comin’ on!” warned Mrs. MacCall, with a glance over her shoulder.
Ruth could scarcely wait for a chance to get Luke off in a corner by himself to put to him some questions that were troubling her. But when she did she derived little satisfaction.
“About those men—” she began. “Were you able to find out anything, Luke?”
“Nothing worth mentioning,” he replied. “I talked with the conductor of the train I was on when I heard the strange talk, and he didn’t even remember the fellows. Small wonder, when you stop to think how many tickets he has to take up in the course of the day. Then I tackled the brakeman, and had a little better luck.”
“Did he know the men?”
“He didn’t exactly know them,” Luke replied. “But he remembered them when I called them to his mind. Luckily, I had noticed them pretty closely and could give a good description. Perhaps I may turn out to be a detective—who knows?”
“You’ll have to work up a few more details on this case before I’ll give you a certificate and a badge,” said Ruth, with a smile. “But what did the brakeman say?”