“Humph!” grunted Captain Eri. “She'll see the light in the dining room, and go inside and wait, more 'n likely. Well, there's nothin' for us to do but to stay here for a while, and then, if she ain't gone, one of us 'll have to go up and tell her she won't suit and pay her fare home, that's all. I think Jerry ought to be the one,” he added mischievously. “He bein' the bridegroom, as you might say.”
“Me!” almost shouted the frantic Captain Jerry. “You go to grass! You fellers got me into this scrape, and now let's see you git me out of it. I don't stir one step.”
They sat there in darkness, the silence unbroken, save for an occasional chuckle from the provoking Eri. Perez, however, was meditating, and observed, after a while:
“Snow! That's a queer name for a darky, ain't it?”
“That colored man up at Barry's place was named White,” said Captain Jerry, “and he was black as your hat. Names don't count.”
“They say colored folks make good cooks, Jerry,” slyly remarked Eri. “Maybe you'd better think it over.”
The unlucky victim of chance did not deign an answer, and the minutes crept slowly by. After a long while they heard someone whistling. Perez went to the window to take an observation.
“It's a man,” he said disappointedly. “He's been to our house, too. My land! I hope he didn't go in. It's that feller Hazeltine; that's who 'tis.”
“Is it?” exclaimed Eri eagerly. “That's so! so 'tis. Let's give him a hail.”
Before he could be stopped he had pulled the saw-horse from the door, had opened the latter a little way, and, with his face at the opening, was whistling shrilly.