"Jefers-pelters! I 'low if I had a boy o' m' own mebbe I'd be a lettle keerful how I used either licker, or terbaccer. But I hain't. I got only one child, an' she's a female. I reckon I ain't gotter worry about little Matildy bein' inflooenced either by her daddy's chawin', or his takin' a snifter of licker on a cold day—I snum!"
"Unanswerable logic, Walky," said Nelson, with some scorn. "I've used the same myself. And it serves all right if one is utterly selfish. I thought that out after Janice, here, opened my eyes."
"You show me how my takin' a drink 'casionally hurts anybody or anything else, an', jefers-pelters! I'll stop it mighty quick!" exclaimed the expressman, with some heat.
"I shall hold you to that, Walky," said Janice, quickly, interfering before there should be any further sharp discussion.
"And," muttered Nelson, "she's as good as got you, Walky—she has that!"
At the moment the door opened with a bang, and Mr. Massey plunged in. He was without a hat and wore the linen apron he always put on when he was compounding prescriptions in the back room of his shop. In his excitement his gray hair was ruffled up more like a cockatoo's topknot than usual, and his eyes seemed fairly to spark.
"Hopewell Drugg!" he exclaimed, spying the storekeeper. "Was my wife just in here?"
"Hul-lo!" ejaculated Walky Dexter. "Hopewell hasn't been sellin' her Paris green for buckwheat flour, has he? That would kinder be in your line, wouldn't it, Massey?"
But the druggist paid the town humorist no attention. He hurried to the counter and leaned across it, asking his question for a second time.
"Why, yes, she was here, Mr. Massey," said Hopewell, puzzled.