“No.”
“That's some comfort. Now, don't you worry, Mother. I'll be back in a few minutes.”
Mrs. Snow clasped her hands. “Oh, I HOPE he hasn't set the barn afire,” she wailed.
“No danger of that, I guess. No, Rachel, you 'tend to your supper. I don't need you.”
He tramped out into the hall and the door closed behind him. Mrs. Snow turned apologetically to her puzzled grandson, who was entirely at a loss to know what the trouble was about.
“You see, Albert,” she hesitatingly explained, “Laban—Mr. Keeler—the man who drove you down from the depot—he—he's an awful nice man and your grandfather thinks the world and all of him, but—but every once in a while he—Oh, dear, I don't know how to say it to you, but—”
Evidently Mrs. Ellis knew how to say it, for she broke into the conversation and said it then and there.
“Every once in a while he gets tipsy,” she snapped. “And I only wish I had my fingers this minute in the hair of the scamp that gave him the liquor.”
A light broke upon Albert's mind. “Oh! Oh, yes!” he exclaimed. “I thought he acted a little queer, and once I thought I smelt—Oh, that was why he was eating the peppermints!”
Mrs. Snow nodded. There was a moment of silence. Suddenly the housekeeper, who had resumed her seat in compliance with Captain Zelotes' order, slammed back her chair and stood up.