“Hello, Captain,” exclaimed Baxter, “changed your mind?”
“Changed nothin'. Zoeth's makin' a fool of himself and I know it, but he ain't goin' to be a fool ALL by himself. I've seen him try it afore and 'tain't safe.”
“What do you mean?”
The Captain grunted scornfully.
“I mean there's safety in numbers, whether it's the number of fools or anything else,” he said. “One idiot's a risky proposition, but two or three in a bunch can watch each other. Come on, Judge, and be the third.”
CHAPTER III
The white house on Phinney's Hill looked desolate and mournful when the buggy containing Judge Baxter and his two companions drove into the yard. The wagon belonging to Mr. Hallett, the undertaker, was at the front door, and Hallett and his assistant were loading in the folding chairs. Mr. Hallett was whistling a popular melody, but, somehow or other, the music only emphasized the lonesomeness. There is little cheer in an undertaker's whistle.
Captain Gould, acting under the Judge's orders, piloted his horse up the driveway and into the back yard. The animal was made fast to the back fence and the three men alighted from the buggy and walked up to the side door of the house.
“Say, Judge,” whispered the Captain, as they halted by the step, “you don't cal'late I can find out who loaded up that music-box chair on me, do you? If I could meet that feller for two or three minutes I might feel more reconciled at bein' fool enough to come over here.”