“Mary-'Gusta,” he stammered, “don't talk so! PLEASE don't!”
Mary smiled. “Oh, yes, I shall, Uncle Zoeth,” she said. “I mean to do more than talk from now on, but I must talk a little first. I'm not going to try to tell you what it means to me to learn after all these years that I have been dependent on you for everything I have had, home and luxuries and education and opportunities. I realize now what sacrifices you must have made—”
“We ain't, neither!” roared the Captain, in frantic protest. “We ain't, I tell you. Somebody's been tellin' lies, ain't they, Zoeth? Why—”
“Hush, Uncle Shad! Someone HAS been telling me—er—fibs—I said that at the beginning; but they're not going to tell me any more. I know the truth, every bit of it, about Father's losing his money in stocks and—Uncle Shad, where are you going?”
Captain Shad was halfway to the door. He answered over his shoulder.
“I'm goin' home,” he vowed, “and when I get there I'm goin' to choke that dummed tattle-tale of an Isaiah Chase! I'll talk to YOU after I've done it.”
Mary ran after him and caught his arm.
“Come back, Uncle Shad!” she ordered. “Come back, sit down, and don't be foolish. I don't want you to talk to me! I am going to talk to you, and I'm not half through yet. Besides, it wasn't Isaiah who told me, it was Judge Baxter.”
“Judge Baxter! Why, the everlastin' old—”
“Hush! He couldn't help telling me, I made him do it. Be still, both of you, and I'll tell you all about it.”