“We are members of the W.C.T.U.,” Tish explained. “We stand ready to assist our nation in every possible way. We do not even believe in beer and light wines.”
He seemed reassured at that, and explained what he wanted. The Government had a number of patrol boats outside, and they were doing their best, but in spite of them liquor was coming in and was being shipped hither and yon.
“The worst of it is,” he said, “we don’t know who we can trust. Only last week I paid a fellow fifteen dollars good money to take me out and locate a rum runner, and he got lost in the fog and had to come back. Yesterday I learned he got forty dollars from the other side for getting lost.”
His idea was that under pretense of fishing we could assist him by watching for the criminals, and reporting anything we saw that was suspicious. As Tish said afterward, there was no profit for the church in the arrangement, but there was a spiritual gain to all of us.
“There are things one cannot measure in dollars and cents,” she said.
We all agreed, and rose to see Mr. MacDonald to the door. But I think he left in a divided state of mind, for Christopher, standing near the table, upset the bottle of blackberry cordial, and Aggie, who had been watching it, gave a wail and started for it. But the floor was still going up and down to her, and her progress across the room was most unsteady.
It is to this unfortunate combination undoubtedly that we owe our later ill luck. For Mr. MacDonald caught her as she was about to bump the mantel, and still holding her, turned to Tish.
“That fellow that double-crossed me,” he said with meaning, “he got thirty days.”
“When we agree to do a thing we do it,” Tish said stiffly.
“So did he,” said Mr. MacDonald, and went away, taking a final sniff at the door.