The friends entered without knocking. Captain Cy looked up, saw them, and appeared embarrassed.
“Hello, boys!” he said. “Glad to see you. Come right in. Clearin' off fine, ain't it?”
Mr. Tidditt replied absently that he wouldn't be surprised if it was. Bailey, his eyes fixed upon the occupant of the cricket, said nothing.
“We—we didn't know you had company, Whit,” said Asaph. “We been up to Simmons's and Alpheus said you was thin and peaked and looked sick. Said you bought sass'p'rilla and all kind of truck. He was afraid you had fever and was out of your head, cruisin round in the rain with no umbrella. The gang weren't talkin' of nothin' else, so me and Bailey thought we'd come right down.”
“That's kind of you, I'm sure. Take your things off and set down. No, I'm sorry to disappoint Smalley and the rest, but I'm able to be up and—er—make my own bed, thank you. So Alpheus thought I looked thin, hey? Well, if I had to live on that soup he sold me, I'd be thinner'n I am now. You tell him that canned hot water is all right if you like it, but it seems a shame to put mud in it. It only changes the color and don't help the taste.”
Mr. Bangs, who was still staring at Emily, now ventured a remark.
“Is that a relation of yours, Cy?” he asked.
“That? Oh! Well, no, not exactly. And yet I don't know but she is. Fellers, this is Emmie Thomas. Can't you shake hands, Emmie?”
The child rose, laid down the magazine, which was open at the colored picture of a group of ladies in crinoline and chignons, and, going across the room, extended a hand to Mr. Tidditt.
“How do you do, sir?” she said.