“Could have got one right from home! Who'd we get? Dave Eldredge's girl, I suppose. I heard she was after it.”
The conversation that followed was in a lower tone, and Elsie heard but little of it. She heard enough, however, to infer that Captain Eri was still the disinterested friend, and that Solomon was very anxious to retain that friendship. After a while the striking of matches indicated that fresh cigars were being lighted, and then the pair rose from their chairs, and entered the outer office. Mr. Bangs was very gracious, exceedingly so.
“Miss Preston,” he said, “Cap'n Hedge tells me that it—er—might be possible for us—er—for the town to secure—er—to—in short, for us to have you for our teacher in the upstairs room. It ain't necessary for me to say that—er—a teacher from Radcliffe don't come our way very often, and that we—that is, the town of Orham, would—er—feel itself lucky if you'd be willing to come.”
“Of course, I told him, Elsie,” said Captain Eri, “that you wouldn't think of comin' for forty-five dollars a month or anything like that. Of course, 'tisn't as though you really needed the place.”
“I understand, I understand,” said the pompous committeeman. “I think that can be arranged. I really think—er—Miss Preston, that there ain't any reason why you can't consider it settled. Ahem!”
Elsie thanked him, trying her best not to smile, and they were bowed out by the great man, who, however, called the Captain to one side, and whispered eagerly to him for a moment or two. The word “Seth” was mentioned at least once.
“Why, Captain Eri!” exclaimed Elsie, as they drove away.
The Captain grinned. “Didn't know I was such a heeler, did you?” he said. “Well, I tell you. If you're fishin' for eels there ain't no use usin' a mack'rel jig. Sol, he's a little mite eely, and you've got to use the kind of bait that 'll fetch that sort of critter.”
“But I shouldn't think he would care whether he was on the school-committee or not. It isn't such an exalted position.”
Captain Eri's answer was in the form of a parable. “Old Laban Simpkins that lived 'round here one time,” he said, “was a mighty hard ticket. Drank rum by the hogshead, pounded his wife till she left him, and was a tough nut gin'rally. Well, one evenin' Labe was comin' home pretty how-come-you-so, and he fell into Jonadab Wixon's well. Wonder he wa'n't killed, but he wa'n't, and they fished him out in a little while. He said that was the deepest well he ever saw; said he begun to think it reached clear through to the hereafter, and when he struck the water he was s'prised to find it wa'n't hot. He j'ined the church the next week, and somebody asked him if he thought religion would keep him from fallin' into any more wells. He said no; said he was lookin' out for somethin' further on.