Bethune smiled. “There’ll be a big washbasket for the lavenderas to-morrow, but we must take his wet clothes off.” He shook Jake. “You’ve got to wake up!”
After a time Jake opened his eyes and blinked at Bethune. “All right! You’re not as fat as Salvador, and you can catch that chair. The fool thing follows me and keeps getting in my way.”
“Come out,” Bethune ordered him, and turned to the negro. “Where’s his pyjamas?”
Salvador brought a suit, and Dick, who dragged Jake out of bed, asked: “How did you get into this mess?”
“Fell into pond behind the dam; not safe that pond. Put a shingle up to-morrow, ‘Keep off the grass.’ No, that’sh not right. Let’sh try again. ‘Twenty dollars fine if you spit on the sidewalk.’”
Bethune grinned at Dick. “It’s not an unusual notice in some of our smaller towns, and one must admit it’s necessary. However, we want to get him into dry clothes.”
Jake gave them some trouble, but they put him in a re-made bed and went back to the verandah, where Bethune sat down.
“Fuller has his good points, but I guess you find him something of a responsibility,” he remarked.
“I do,” said Dick, with feeling. “Still, this is the first time he has come home the worse for liquor. I’m rather worried about it, because it’s a new trouble.”
“And you had enough already?” Bethune suggested. “Well, though you’re not very old yet, I think Miss Fuller did well to make you his guardian, and perhaps I’m to blame for his relapse, because I sent him to Santa Brigida. François was busy and there were a number of bills to pay for stores we bought in the town. I hope Fuller hasn’t lost the money!”