“Hum!” Mr. Brown's tone was that of one upon whom, out of darkness, a light has suddenly burst. “I see,” he mused, thoughtfully. “Yes, yes. I see.”
For a minute he stood still, evidently pondering. Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he strode out of the house and walked briskly across to the buggy.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said, removing the new cap which Seth had recently purchased for him in Eastboro. “Mr. Stover tells me you wish to be shown the lights.”
The plump woman answered. “Yes,” she said, briskly, “we do. Are you a new keeper? Where's Mr. Atkins?”
“Mr. Atkins, I regret to say,” began Brown, “is ill. He—”
Stover, standing at his elbow, interrupted nervously.
“Mr. Brown here'll show us around,” he said quickly. “Seth said he would.”
“I shall be happy,” concurred that young gentleman. “You must excuse me if I seem rather worried. Mr. Atkins, my chief—I believe you know him, Mrs. Stover—has been taken suddenly ill, and is, apparently, suffering much pain. The attack was very sudden, and I—”
“Sick?” The plump woman seemed actually to prick up her ears, like a sleepy cat at the sound of the dinner bell. “Is Seth sick? And you all alone with him here? Can't I do anything to help?”
“All he wants is to be left alone,” put in her husband anxiously. “He said so himself.”