I dropped it where I found it and went out and knocked again loudly. He wakened after a minute and came to the door with the candle in his hand.
"Oh, it's you, Minnie. Come in!"
I went in and put my candle on the table.
"I've got to talk to you," I said. "I don't mind admitting things have been going pretty well, but—they won't stand for the candles. You mark my words."
"If they'll stand for the bar being closed, why not the candles?" he demanded.
"Well," I said, "they can't have electric light sent up in boxes and labeled 'books,' but they can get liquor that way."
He whistled, and then he laughed.
"Then we'll not have any books," he said. "I guess they can manage. 'My only books were woman's looks—'" and then he saw the ball of paper on the floor and his expression changed. He walked over and picked it up, smoothing it out on the palm of his hand.
After a minute he looked up at me.
"I haven't been to the shelter-house to-day. They are all right?"