“Well,” he said, “out with it. You've come to claim somethin', I understand.”
“I come for my rights,” shouted Mr. Thomas.
“Yes? Well, this ain't State's prison or I'd give 'em to you with pleasure. Heman, you'd better do the talkin'. We'll probably get ahead faster.”
The Honorable cleared his throat and waved his hand.
“Cyrus,” he began, “you are my boyhood friend and my fellow townsman and neighbor. Under such circumstances it gives me pain—”
“Then don't let us discuss painful subjects. Let's get down to business. You've come to rescue Bos'n—Emily, that is,—from the 'robber'—I'm quotin' Deacon Thomas here—that's got her, so's to turn her over to her sorrowin' father. Is that it? Yes. Well, you can't have her—not yet.”
“Cyrus,” said Mr. Atkins, “I'm sorry to see that you take it this way. You haven't the shadow of a right. We have the law with us, and your conduct will lead us to invoke it. The constable is outside. Shall I call him in?”
“Uncle Bedny” was the town constable and had been since before the war. The purely honorary office was given him each year as a joke. Captain Cy grinned broadly, and even Tad was obliged to smile.
“Don't be inhuman, Heman,” urged the captain. “You wouldn't turn me over to be man-handled by Uncle Bedny, would you?”
“This is not a humorous affair—” began the congressman, with dignity. But the “bereaved father” had been prospecting on his own hook, and now he peeped into the sitting room.