Gringo and I were the first downstairs. We ran out-of-doors, and to our surprise, were met on the front veranda by Czarina, Yeggie, the Frenchmen, and even Weary Winnie, all in the most extraordinary state of excitement.
“Come up to the barn,” they cried, “come up to the barn,” and not a word more would they say.
We ran up like foxes, and there in front of the barn a most peculiar thing was taking place.
Sir Walter stood with his aristocratic face in a snarl of worry. He was staring at his big flock of Wyandottes who were behaving in a most erratic manner.
“If those hens weren’t so steady,” I said, “I would guess that they are trying to do a cake walk.”
Yeggie could keep still no longer, and just burst out, “They’re doing the Carty walk—they got at the bottle. Yeggie saw ’em.”
“What!” I barked wildly.
“Shut up,” said Gringo giving him a nip, “you’re making Scott feel sore,” and he threw a compassionate glance at Sir Walter.
“I will explain,” said Czarina in her slow, solemn way, and she began, “You remember the oats that got soaked with the brandy yesterday afternoon?”
“Perfectly,” I replied.