“Ten-thirty,” says he. And from the way he spoke I could tell right off that he was thinking about the death-chamber door. As I have written down, we had planned on being here to-night when the mysterious door did its stuff, to sort of check up on it and thus find out what made it slam. But Fate had worked against us.
Old Goliath let out his big neck at the lighted house.
“And this,” says he curiously, “is the shebang where we’re goin’ to bunk fur the night, hey?”
“This,” nodded Poppy, “is the shack.”
We had told the old man, of course, how we happened to be staying here. But he didn’t know about the mystery. For we had no business telling that. Whatever he found out, we decided, we’d let him get it straight from Ma Doane herself and not from us.
Having heard us drive in, the little old lady came running.
“Why!...” she cried, looking the gang over for a familiar face. “Where’s Miss Ruth?”
Having failed her, we sort of hung our heads as we told the story of our hard luck. Yet it wasn’t our fault, we said. We had done our best. It was a case of having too many black cats to buck against.
“Pshaw!” says she, getting control of herself so quickly that it surprised us. “You needn’t act so sheepish about it. If you want to know the truth, I’m used to disappointments. A body has to be in living with Pa. For he’s the most disappointing person I’ve ever known. He’s a disappointment in himself and a disappointment in almost everything he does—except eat. And even then I have to watch him like a hawk to see that he doesn’t bite chunks out of the dishes.... Did you see Lawyer Chew in Neponset Corners?”
“No,” grinned Poppy, “but we saw his son Eggbert.”