I remained in my room for the remainder of the morning, and Carnes went out among the gossipers, in search of any scrap that he might seize upon and manipulate into a thing of meaning.
At the dinner table I met Dr. Bethel. He was his usual calm, courteous self, seeming in no wise ruffled or discomposed by the events of the previous day.
We chatted together over our dinner, and together left the table. In the hall the doctor turned to face me, saying:
"If you have nothing better to occupy your time, come down to my house with me. I shall enjoy your company."
I could scarcely have found a way of passing the afternoon more to my taste, just then, and I accepted his invitation promptly.
Outside the doctor's dwelling, quiet and order reigned, thanks to Jim Long's officious friendliness, but within was still the confusion of yesterday; Jim, seemingly, having exhausted himself in the hanging of the doctor's front door.
Bethel looked about the disordered rooms, and laughed the laugh of the philosopher.
"After all, a man can not be thoroughly angry at the doings of a mob," he said, stooping to gather up some scattered papers. "It's like scattering shot; the charge loses its force; there is no center to turn upon. I was in a rage yesterday, but it was rather with the author of the mischief credited to me, than these fanatical would-be avengers, and then—after due reflection—it was quite natural that these village simpletons should suspect me, was it not?"