“In what way?”
He laughed. “Oh, nothin',” he observed, with a wink, “only. . . . Heard any extry hurrahin' over to your place lately?”
“No. Captain, what do you mean?”
“I don't mean nothin'. But I shouldn't wonder if the Great Panjandrum and his folks was reminded that that Lane was still open, that's all. Ho! ho! So long, Ros.”
I did not catch his meaning at the time. A few days later I discovered it by accident. I had been up to the village and was on my way home by the short cut. As I crossed the field behind Sylvanus Snow's abandoned house, the spot where Miss Colton and I had waited on the porch the night of the thunder shower, I heard the rattle of a cart going down the Lane. There was nothing unusual in this, of itself, but with it I heard the sound of loud voices. One of these voices was so loud that I caught the words:
“Now, boys, start her up! Three cheers for the Star Spangled Banner and make 'em loud. Let her go!”
The cheers followed, uproarious ones.
“Try it again,” commanded the voice. “And keep her up all the way along. We'll shake up the 'nerves' I guess. Hooray!”
This was enough. I understood now what Dean had meant by the Coltons realizing that the Lane was still open. I ran at full speed through the scrub and bushes, through the grove, and emerged upon the Lane directly opposite the Colton estate. The wagon—Zeb Kendrick's weir cart—was approaching. Zeb was driving and behind him in the body of the cart were four or five young fellows whom I recognized as belonging to the “billiard room gang,” an unorganized society whose members worked only occasionally but were responsible for most of the mischief and disorder in our village. Tim Hallet, a sort of leader in that society, with the reputation of having been expelled from school three times and never keeping a job longer than a fortnight, was on the seat beside Kendrick, his back to the horse. Zeb was grinning broadly.
The wagon came nearer, the horse barely moving. Tim Hallet waved his arm.