Captain Lote stamped his foot.
“For thunderation sakes, Olive, let up!” he commanded. “You ought to know by this time that there's one thing I hate worse than doin' my duty, that's bein' preached to about it. Let up! Don't you say another word.”
She did not, having learned much by years of experience. He said the next word on the subject himself. At noon, when he came home for dinner, he said, as they rose from the table: “Where's my suitcase, up attic?”
“Why, yes, I guess likely 'tis. Why?”
Instead of answering he turned to the housekeeper, Mrs. Ellis.
“Rachel,” he said, “go up and get that case and fetch it down to the bedroom, will you? Hurry up! Train leaves at half-past two and it's 'most one now.”
Both women stared at him. Mrs. Ellis spoke first.
“Why, Cap'n Lote,” she cried; “be you goin' away?”
Her employer's answer was crisp and very much to the point. “I am if I can get that case time enough to pack it and make the train,” he observed. “If you stand here askin' questions I probably shall stay to home.”
The housekeeper made a hasty exit by way of the back stairs. Mrs. Snow still gazed wonderingly at her husband.