"Isn't your house? George," turning to Mr. Powless, "didn't I hear this man distinctly tell you that this house WAS his?"
George nodded. "Certainly, my dear," he declared. Then turning to Mr. Winslow, he demanded: "What do you mean by saying it is yours one moment and not yours the next; eh?"
Jed looked around. For one instant his gaze rested upon the face of Mrs. Armstrong. Then he drew himself up.
"Because," he declared, "I've rented it furnished to this lady here. And, that bein' the case, it ain't mine just now and I ain't got any right to be in it. And," his voice rising in desperation, "neither has anybody else."
Mrs. George Powless went a few moments later; before she went she expressed her opinion of Mr. Winslow's behavior. Mr. George Powless followed her, expressing his opinion as he went. The object of their adjuration sat down upon a rush-bottomed chair and rubbed his chin.
"Lord!" he exclaimed, with fervor. Mrs. Armstrong looked at him in amazement.
"Why, Mr. Winslow!" she exclaimed, and burst out laughing.
Jed groaned. "I know how Jonah felt after the whale unloaded him," he drawled. "That woman all but had me swallered. If you hadn't been here she would."
"Jed!" shouted a voice outside. "Jed, where are you?"
Mr. Winslow raised his head. "Eh?" he queried. "That's Sam hollerin', ain't it?"