"I tell you you can't. You ain't got the right."
"Perhaps not. But I have the right to use my discretion—my judgment in your case. And my judgment is that if I hear one scandalous story about town reflecting upon the character of Mrs. Armstrong or her brother—yes, or her friends—I shall know who is responsible and I shall have you arrested and held for trial as an enemy of the country. You condemned the United States to the devil only a moment ago in my hearing. Do you think that would help you in court, Babbitt? I don't."
The little man's face was a sight. As Jed said afterward, he looked as if he would have enjoyed biting his way out of the shop.
"Huh!" he snarled; "I see. You're all in together, the whole lot of you. And you, you brass buttons, you're usin' your soldierin' job to keep your friends out of trouble. . . . Huh! Yes, that's what you're doin'."
The Major's smile was provokingly cool.
"Perhaps I am," he admitted. "But I shouldn't advise you to forget what I have just told you, Babbitt. I mean every word of it."
It was Ruth who spoke next. She uttered a startled exclamation.
"There's some one coming up the walk," she cried. "Listen."
Sure enough, heavy footsteps sounded upon the walk leading from the front gate to the shop. Jed ran to the window.
"It's Sam," he exclaimed. "Good heavens above! It's Sam Hunniwell, of all folks—now!"