“Oh, Mr. Marmor!” besought Mrs. Lemfield, “do go up stairs, and keep out of sight. They have threatened about you so much that some of them will surely come in here, and kill you! Do go up, quick! quick!”
Marmor obeyed, and immediately the host, who had been out, re-entered with wild eyes and white lips.
“Vo ish dat mon, Sarah?”
She signed with her hand, in reply; at the same time saying, in an indifferent tone, “Oh, he’s gone up, he is not here,” for their little child had entered, and she feared it might betray their guest.
The excited Jew (for Lemfield was a Jew) leaped up the stairs, calling out as he ran, “Don’t shoot! It’s me—jist me. Oh, moine goot freund! Vat vill dese men to? Shenneral Paker say he vill hab de guns, oder he vill pekin to fire in von half hour. Colonel A. P., dat ole man you seen sthrapping on dem pig bistols by’me Post Office, he tole me close up mine par in’ leetle sthore. Vell, dey ish hab too much visky now; so I mind quick, I tell you! He tole same ting yo’ mudda, an’ she pe shut up.”
“Where is she?” asked Marmor.
“My golly! Se ist plucky ole voman. Se im leetle sthore—all ’lone by self. She not come avay.”
“Where are my wife and children?”
“Im house—your house. Dat ish pest blace. Nicht wahr? Pest not pe mit you.”
“I don’t know,” replied Marmor, absently.