"Where's Aunt Lucinda?" I sung out. "You loon, have you killed her?"
He laughed. "No, no!" he says. "She deserves to be killed, but she's alive. She refused to give me my tea; she refused to stop her horrible singin'. She was utterly impossible and I got rid of her. I crept down and watched until she went into the cellar. Then I closed the door and locked it. Cap'n Snow, I have never been treated as that woman treated me in my life! It was a matter of principle with me and I was obliged—"
He couldn't say any more because the poundin' on the door broke out again louder than ever. I headed for it and he got in front of me.
"She is absolutely unharmed, I assure you," he says.
She sounded healthy, that was a fact. The names she called that insect-hunter was a caution!
"Let me out!" she kept hollerin'. "You let me out of this cellar, you miserable little good-for-nothin'! If I ever get my hands on you I'll—"
"Ha! ha!" laughs Lemuel. "I couldn't make her lose her temper, could I? Oh, no, she's perfectly calm now! You're not in the cellar, madam," he calls to her, "you're in error. Thought can do anything; think yourself out."
I looked at him. "Well," says I, "for a person with twitterin' nerves, you—"
"D—n my nerves!" says he, which was the most human remark he'd ever made in my hearin' and proved that he wasn't beyond hopes. "You told me that all I needed was somethin' to keep me interested. Well, I've got it."
"You let me out!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. "Cap'n Snow, if you're there, you let me out!"