“Who's alive? What's the matter with you this time, Is?” he demanded.
“Shut up, Issy,” ordered Laban, seizing the frantic Mr. Price by the collar. “Be still! Wait a minute.”
“Be still? What do I want to be still for? I cal'late Cap'n Lote'll holler some, too, when he hears. He's alive, Cap'n Lote, I tell ye. Let go of me, Labe Keeler! He's alive!”
“Who's alive? What is it? Labe, YOU answer me. Who's alive?”
Laban's thoughts were still in a whirl. He was still shaking from the news the telegraph operator had brought. Rachel Ellis was at that moment in his mind and he answered as she might have done.
“Er—er—Robert Penfold,” he said.
“Robert PENFOLD! What—”
Issachar could hold in no longer.
“Robert Penfold nawthin'!” he shouted. “Who in thunder's he? 'Tain't Robert Penfold nor Robert Penholder neither. It's Al Speranza, that's who 'tis. He ain't killed, Cap'n Lote. He's alive and he's been alive all the time.”
Kelley stepped forward.