"But that ain't all," Jake continued. "She says that little boy wot got hurt belongs to an old man--a parson--an' his beautiful daughter, who have been good to her. They didn't know where the little boy was, but when they found out they was all upsot, an' left in a hurry, but stopped in to say good-bye to my little Doris. That was two days ago, and they must be up there at Big Sam's now. Boys, let me tell ye this: Anyone who is good to my little sick lass is good to me, an' Jake Purdy isn't a man to fergit; yez know that. Now I have a suggestion to make. Instead of spendin' our hard-earned money with that old wretch, Ned, let's go up in a body to the house an' inquire fer the sick lad. We can't do nuthin', I know, but mebbe it'll please the old man an' his daughter to know that we ain't fergotten the brave little boy. An' come to think further it's no mor'n our duty. That lad saved one of us from death, an' the one that was saved, saved me. Boys, ye can do as yez like, but I'm goin' anyway."
There was no hesitation now among these men. With one accord they turned their backs upon the village, and struck along the road leading out into the country. Old Ned, the saloon-keeper, watched them in amazement. Never before had they done such a thing. What would become of all the whisky in those bottles standing on the shelves?
"The idiots!" he yelled. "What's the matter with 'em?"
Bareheaded he rushed out into the street and lifted up his voice.
"Hi! hi!" he shouted.
The drivers paused and looked around.
"Wait!" panted Ned running up to where they were standing.
"What's wrong, old man?" questioned one.
"Wrong! What's wrong with you? Why are ye leavin' without droppin' in to see me? Surely ye ain't goin' to go away without a friendly call?"
"Look here, Ned," replied Jake, acting as spokesman for the others, "we've made too many friendly calls at your place fer our own good. This year we're goin' to cut it out. So go home an' don't interfere."