“Course I'm sure. I was up to the depot and see him buy his ticket and git on the cars.”
“Did, hey? Humph! So Sam's gone. Gertie Higgins still over to her Aunt Hannah's at Trumet?”
Issy looked at his questioner. “Why, yes,” he said suspiciously. “I s'pose she's there. Fact, I know she is. Pat Starkey's doin' the telegraphin' while she's away. What made you ask that?”
The blacksmith chuckled. “Oh, nothin',” he said. “How's her dad's dyspepsy? Had any more of them sudden attacks of his? I cal'late they'll take the old man off some of these days, won't they? I hear the doctor thinks there's more heart than stomach in them attacks.”
But the skipper of the Lady May was not to be put off thus. “What you drivin' at, Jake?” he demanded. “What's Sam Bartlett's goin' away got to do with Gertie Higgins?”
In his eagerness he stepped to Mr. Larkin's side. The blacksmith caught sight of the novel in his customer's pocket. He snatched it forth.
“What you readin' now, Is?” he demanded. “More blood and brimstone? 'Vivy Ann, the Shop Girl!' Gee! Wow!”
“You gimme that book, Jake Larkin! Gimme it now!”
Fending the frantic quahauger off with one mighty arm, the blacksmith proceeded to read aloud:
“'Darlin',' cried Lord Lyndhurst, strainin' the beautiful and blushin' maid to his manly bosom, 'you are mine at last. Mine! No—' Jerushy! a love story! Why, Issy! I didn't know you was in love. Who's the lucky girl? Send me an invite to your weddin', won't you?”