This last with a burst of enthusiasm.
“Ho, ho! Perez,” roared Captain Eri; “Jerry's fallin' in love with his own picture. Awful thing for one so young, ain't it?”
“I ain't such a turrible sight older 'n you be, Eri Hedge,” sputtered the prospective bridegroom with righteous indignation. Then he added in a rather crestfallen tone, “But I am a heap older 'n I was when I had that daguerreotype took. See here; if I send that Nantucket woman this picture won't she notice the difference when she sees me?”
“What if she does?” broke in Captain Perez. “You can tell her how 'twas. Talk her over. A feller that's been married, like you, ought to be able to talk ANY woman over.”
Captain Jerry didn't appear sanguine concerning his ability to “talk her over,” but his fellow-conspirators made light of his feeble objections, and the daguerreotype, carefully wrapped, was mailed the next morning, accompanied by a brief biographical sketch of the original and his avowed adherence to the Baptist creed and the Good Templar's abstinence.
“I hope she'll hurry up and answer,” said the impatient Captain Perez. “I want to get this thing settled one way or another. Don't you, Jerry?”
“Yes,” was the hesitating reply. “One way or another.”
Captain Eri had seen John Baxter several times since the evening of the “Come-Outers'” meeting. The old man was calmer apparently, and was disposed to take the billiard-saloon matter less seriously, particularly as it was reported that the town selectmen were to hold a special meeting to consider the question of allowing Mr. Saunders to continue in business. The last-named gentleman had given what he was pleased to call a “blow-out” to his regular patrons in celebration of the granting of the license, and “Squealer” Wixon and one or two more spent a dreary day and night in the town lock-up in consequence. Baxter told the Captain that he had not yet made up his mind concerning the proposed Boston trip, but he thought “more 'n likely” he should go.
Captain Eri was obliged to be content with this assurance, but he determined to keep a close watch on his friend just the same.
He had met Ralph Hazeltine once or twice since the latter's arrival in Orham, and, in response to questions as to how he was getting on at the station, the new electrician invariably responded, “First-rate.” Gossip, however, in the person of Miss Busteed, reported that the operators were doing their best to keep Mr. Hazeltine's lot from being altogether a bed of roses, and there were dark hints of something more to come.