“I know there's somethin' troublin' him. I've lived with him too many years not to know the signs. Oh, Albert—you haven't done anything to displease him, have you?”
“No, indeed, Grandmother. Whatever it is, it isn't that.”
When they reached the office, the captain spoke to Mr. Keeler.
“Had your dinner, Labe?” he asked.
“Yes—yes, indeed. Don't take me long to eat—not at my boardin' house. A feller'd have to have paralysis to make eatin' one of Lindy Dadgett's meals take more'n a half hour. Um-hm—yes.”
Despite his preoccupation, Captain Zelotes could not help smiling.
“To make it take an hour he'd have to be ossified, wouldn't he, like the feller in the circus sideshow?” he observed.
Laban nodded. “That—or dead,” he replied. “Yes—just about—just so, Cap'n.”
“Where's Issachar?”
“He's eatin' yet, I cal'late. He don't board at Lindy's.”