“How—how d'ye do, Mrs. Beasley?” faltered Mr. Bangs, not forgetting to raise his voice. “I hope you're lookin' as well as you feel. I mean, I hope you're smart.”
Mrs. Beasley nodded decisively.
“Yes,” she answered. “I'm pretty toler'ble, thank you. What was the matter, Mr. Bangs? Why didn't you come in? Do you usually make your calls round the corner?”
The gentleman addressed seemed unable to reply. The schoolmistress came to the rescue.
“You mustn't blame Mr. Bangs, Mrs. Beasley,” she explained. “He wasn't responsible for what happened at Captain Whittaker's. He is the gentleman who drove me over here. I was going to send him to Mrs. Atwood's for the diary.”
“Who said I was blamin' him?” queried the widow. “If 'twas that little Tidditt thing I might feel different. But, considerin' that I got this horn from Mr. Bangs, I'm willin' to let bygones be past. It helps my hearin' a lot. Them ear-fixin's was good while they lasted, but they got out of kilter quick. I shan't bother Mr. Bangs. If he can square his own conscience, I'm satisfied.”
Bailey's conscience was not troubling him greatly, and he seemed relieved. Phoebe told of the damaged buggy.
“Humph!” grunted the widow. “The horse didn't get bent, too, did he?”
Mr. Bangs indignantly declared that the horse was all right.
“Um—hum. Well, then, I guess I can supply a carriage. My fust cousin Ezra that died used to be doctor here, and he give me his sulky when he got a new one. It's out in the barn. Go fetch your horse, and harness him in. I'll be ready time the harnessin's done.”