"The diptheery?" exclaimed Pap.
Into his eyes--those dull grey eyes--flitted terror and horror. But Ajax saw nothing but what had festered so long in his own mind.
"Aye--the diphtheria! You are rich, Mr. Spooner; you can follow your cattle into a healthier country than this. My advice to you is--Get!"
The old man stared; then he slid off the barrel and shambled out of the store as little Sissy Leadham entered it. The child looked curiously at Andrew Spooner.
"What's the matter with Pap?" she asked, shrilly.
She was a pretty, tow-headed, rosy-cheeked creature, the daughter of George Leadham, a widower, who adored her. He was looking at her now with a strange light in his eyes. Not a man in the store but interpreted aright the father's glance.
"What's the matter with pore old Pap?" she demanded.
The blacksmith caught her up, kissing her face, smoothing her curls.
"Just that, my pet," said he. "He's old, and he's poor--the poorest man, ain't he, boys?--the very poorest man in Paradise."
The child looked puzzled. It would have taken a wiser head than hers to understand the minds of the men about her.