But if he did not find the college boy or the man with the moles he did get a surprise for his walk; namely, the sight of the family of Haley, and Haley himself beside their trig, battered luggage, in a section of the car next his own. Mrs. Haley turned a guilty red, while Haley essayed a stolid demeanor.
“What does this mean?” demanded the colonel.
“Haley felt he would have to go with you, Colonel,” replied Mrs. Haley, who had timid, wide, blue eyes and the voice of a bird, but a courage under her panic, as birds have, too, when their nests are in peril. “We’ve rinted the house to a good man with grown-up children, and Haley can get a job if you won’t want him.”
“Yis, sor,” mumbled Haley. He was standing at attention, as was his wife, the toddling Nora being held in the posture of respect on the plush seat.
“And I suppose you took the furniture money to buy tickets?”
“Yis, sor.”
“And you’re bound to go with me?”
“Yis, sor,” said Haley.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sergeant,” said the colonel; but he was glad at the heart of him for this mutinous loyalty.
“Yis, sor,” said Haley.