“Thought some o' takin' out a policy o' insurance on my cockerel.”
“Trade's lookin' up, William,” said Captain Seth to the storekeeper, as some one was heard to kick the snow off his boots on the door-step. “Somebody 's found he's got to hev a shoestring 'fore mornin'.”
The door opened, and closed behind a strongly-made man of twenty-six or seven, of homely features, with black hair, in clothes which he had outgrown. It was a bitter night, but he had no coat over his flannel jacket. He walked straight down the store, between the dry-goods counters, to the snug corner at the rear, where the knot of talkers sat; nodded, without a smile, to each of them, and then asked the storekeeper for some simple articles of food, which he wished to buy. It was Eph.
While the purchases were being put up, an awkward silence prevailed, which the oil-suits hanging on the walls, broadly displaying their arms and legs, seemed to mock, in dumb show.
Nothing was changed, to Eph's eyes, as he looked about. Even the handbill of familiar pattern—
“STANDING WOOD FOR SALE.
Apply to J. CARTER, Admin'r,”
seemed to have always been there.
The village parliament remained spellbound. Mr. Adams tied up the purchases, and mildly inquired,—
“Shall I charge this?”
Not that he was anxious to open an account, but that he would probably have gone to the length of selling Eph a barrel of molasses “on tick” rather than run any risk of offending so formidable a character.