“It's me, Atkins,” he announced, hesitatingly. “I'd like to speak to you, if you don't mind.”
“On business?”
“Well, no—not exactly. Say, Brown, I guess likely I'd ought to beg your pardon again. I cal'late I've made another mistake. I jedge you wa'n't spyin' on me when you dove down that bankin'.”
“Your judgment is good this time. I was not.”
“No, I'm sartin you wa'n't. I apologize and take it all back. Now can I come in?”
The door was thrown open. Seth entered, looking sheepish, and sat down in the little cane-seated rocker.
“Say,” he began, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, “would you mind—now that I've begged your pardon and all—tellin' me what did happen while I was away. I imagine, judgin' by the looks of things in the kitchen, that there was—er—well, consider'ble doin', as the boys say.”
He grinned. Brown tried to be serious, but was obliged to smile in return.
“I'll tell you,” he said. “Of course you know where that—er—remarkable dog came from?”
“I can guess,” drily. “Henry G.'s present, ain't he? Humph! Well, I'd ought to have known that anything Henry would GIVE away was likely to be remarkable in all sorts of ways. All right! that's one Henry's got on me. Tomorrow afternoon me and Job take a trip back to Eastboro, and one of us stays there. It may be me, but I have my doubts. I agreed to take a DOG on trial, not a yeller-jaundiced cow with a church organ inside of it. Hear the critter whoopin' down there in the boathouse! And he's eat everything that's chewable on the reservation already. He's a famine on legs, that pup. But never mind him. He's been tried—and found guilty. Tell me what happened.”