The selectmen had been in consultation, and were now standing outside, making holes in the snow with their boot toes and finding it difficult to break away, after the usual manner of rural communities. Mrs. Lane nodded pleasantly and asked if every one else had gone home to dinner.
“Mostly,” replied First Selectman Penfield, “but Judge Ricker’s in his office, I reckon, and Slocum, he’s in the end room as ’cessor, waitin’ for folks to swear their taxes, for which they appear to be in no hurry.”
This was exactly the information Mrs. Lane wanted, and she walked directly down the corridor, this time firmly grasping the egg-basket and leaving the satchel outside.
Opening the door without knocking, she had entered, closed it, and seated herself opposite Abiram Slocum before he was aware of her presence, and do what he could, he was not able to control the slight start that her appearance gave him.
“Morning, marm,” he said formally, putting his thumbs in the armholes of his vest and puffing out his cheeks with importance; “want to swear your taxes?”
“Not to-day; Joshua always attends to that. I’ve jest dropped in ter get that receipt for the O’More rent, as Joshua intends settling the matter up with Judge Ricker this afternoon.”
“Very glad to hear it, Mrs. Joshua Lane; it saves me lots of trouble, and I hate to go to law unless required.” And he drew a blank form from a desk, which he filled in, signed, and was about to hand across the table, when he suddenly withdrew it, saying, “Well, where are the sixty dollars?”
“They was paid you June the 10th.”
“What!” shouted Abiram, really believing the woman to be crazy, and retreating behind the table.