“He must have been dealing out a little abuse to the public generally, Tod,” said I.
“Very likely,” answered Tod. “He seems bursting with some rage or other.”
“Nay, I don’t think it’s rage so much as vexation. Something must have gone wrong.”
“Well, perhaps so.”
“Look here, Tod. If we had a home to keep up and a lot of mouths to feed and weekly rent to pay, and a strike stopped the supplies, we might be in a worse humour than Hoar is.”
“Right, Johnny.” And Tod went off at a strapping pace.
How it may be with other people, I don’t know: but when I get back to a place after an absence, I want to see every one, and am apt to go dashing in at doors without warning.
“It won’t take us a minute to look in on Miss Timmens, Tod,” I said, as we neared the school-house. “She’ll tell us the news of the whole parish.”
“Take the minute, then, if you like,” said Tod. “I am not going to bother myself with Miss Timmens.”