"My soul!" he panted. "Oh, my soul, Cap'n Zeb! They're comin'! they're comin'!"
"Who's comin'?" I wanted to know.
"Why, Mr. Frank, and that stewardess! And John Bean, the constable, is with 'em. What shall I do? I'll have to go to jail!"
He was all but cryin', like a young one. I left him to his wife, who, judgin' by her actions, was cal'latin' to soothe him with a pan of hot water, and headed for the front porch. However, I was too late. I hadn't any more than reached the dinin'-room, where all the comp'ny was still settin' at the tables, than in through the front door marches Mr. Edwin Frank of Pittsburg, and the stewardess, and John Bean, the constable. The band had begun to play and 'twas time to face the music.
Frank looked around at the crowd at the tables, at Mrs. Cahoon, and Alpheus, and the rest who'd done the waitin'; and then at me. His face was fire red and he was ugly as a shark in a weir net.
"Humph!" says he. "What does this mean? Snow, what high-handed outrage have you committed on these premises?"
I held up my hand. "Shh!" says I, tryin' to think quick and save a scene; "Shh, Mr. Frank!" I says. "If you'll come into your private cabin I'll explain best I can. Somebody had to get dinner for this crowd. Your Frenchmen wouldn't work, so we did. All we've used is our grub, that which ain't been paid for, and—"
His teeth snapped together and he was so mad he couldn't speak for a second. The stewardess was as mad as he was, but it took more'n that to keep her quiet.
"Fred," says she—and even then, upset as I was, I noticed she didn't call him by the name he give Jacobs and me—"Fred, have him arrested. He's the one that's responsible for it all. Officer, you do your duty. Arrest that Snow there! Do you hear?"
She was pointin' to me. Poor old Bean hadn't arrested anybody for so long that he'd forgot how, I cal'late. All he did was stammer and look silly.