“He’s having a good time,” Gringo always growls, if he hears this criticism, “and he’s hurting no one. Let him alone.”
Master Carty came in very late for breakfast that morning, and only the two ladies were left. He had slept off his ill-temper over the loss of his bottle, and was in his usual waggish, teasing mood.
He pulled his sister’s hair as he passed her, and made an amusing face at Mrs. Granton.
His sister began to whimper a bit, and I knew a scene was coming.
“What’s the matter, Sis?” he asked kindly. “Has Bonstone been beating you—don’t cry in my coffee, if he has. It will only weaken me, when I punish him.”
“The h-h-hens are all drunk,” she said as she passed him his cup.
“Drunk!” he exclaimed, “and what do they find to get drunk on in this double-distilled temperance household? Spring water, eh?”
“Some one brought this bottle to the place,” said Mrs. Bonstone, dramatically withdrawing from under the table the broken neck that she had picked up in the barn.
Master Carty started, and said, “Ye gods! Have I found the murderer of my long-lost brother?”