“No, sir, you can't,” declared Larry. “You can't, I tell you. The boss don't let nobody in there and—Hold on! Hold on!”
The other voice made a short but evidently earnest answer. Larry again expostulated. The workers looked up from their sewing. The door opened and Larry appeared, flushed and excited.
“Where's Mr. Upham?” he demanded. “Mr. Upham!”
Upham was the foreman of the workroom. At the moment he was downstairs in conversation with the head of the house. A half dozen gave this information.
“What's the matter? Who is it?” asked several.
“I don't know who 'tis. It's a man and he's crazy, I think. I told him he couldn't come in here, but he just keeps comin'. He wants to see somebody named Coffin and there ain't no Coffins here.”
Keziah bent lower over the wedding coat. Her hand shook and she dropped the needle.
“I told him we didn't keep coffins,” declared Larry. “This ain't no undertaker's. Where's Mr. Upham?”
Keziah's nearest neighbor leaned toward her.
“I guess it's somebody to see you,” she said. “Your name is Coffin, ain't it?”