“Zuba!” he called. “Zuba, come down here a minute.”
Azuba answered, but in no complacent tone. “Don't bother me, Cap'n Dott,” she protested. “I'm late as 'tis.”
“Just a minute, Zuba, that's all. One minute, please.”
Mr. Ginn snorted at the “please.” They heard the housekeeper descending. At the bottom step she sniffed loudly.
“I do believe it's tobacco smoke!” she exclaimed. “Cap'n Dott, have you been smokin' in my kitchen?”
She entered the room, waving an indignant arm. She was dressed in her Sunday best, bonnet and all.
“What!” she began, and then, suddenly aware that her employer was not alone, turned to stare at his companion. “Why!” she exclaimed; “who—oh, my soul! LABAN!”
“Hello, Zuby!” roared her husband, rising to greet her. “How be you, old gal?”
Before she could speak or move he seized her in his arms, squeezed her to him, and pressed a kiss like the report of a fire-cracker upon her cheek. “How be you, Zuby?” he repeated.
“Oh, Labe!” gasped Azuba. “Labe!”