“So you went on the flyer?” said the postmaster.
Carroll was having some difficulty in lighting his cigar, and did not reply.
“Did you go on the flyer?” persisted the postmaster.
“No, I did not,” replied Carroll, with unmistakable curtness.
The postmaster hemmed to conceal embarrassment. He had been shaved and had only lingered for a bit of gossip, and now the church-bells began to ring, and he was going to church, as were also Lee, the druggist, and most of the others. They rose and lounged out, one after another; little Willy Eddy followed them. Flynn finished shaving Amidon, who also left, and finally he was left alone in the shop with Carroll, who arose and approached the chair.
“Sorry to keep you waitin', Captain Carroll,” said Flynn, preparing a lather with enthusiasm.
“The day is before me,” said Carroll, as he seated himself.
“I hope,” said Flynn, beating away his hand in a bowl of mounting rainbow bubbles—“I hope that—that—your feelings were not hurt at—at—our eavesdropping.”
“At what?” asked Carroll, kindly and soberly.
“At our eavesdropping,” reported the barber, with a worshipful and agitated glance at him.