Mrs. Clunie complained that half a dozen times she had chased “that hauf-witted, saft sannie o’ a daftie, ca’ed Laugher, or Smiler or something,” from the back door, and she was sure he was “efter nae guid.”
On the morning of the third day, Phil, stiff and a little wobbly, set out for the smithy, where big Sol Hanson welcomed him back with an indulgent grin.
Hanson had learned all about the affray, as everyone else in town seemed to have done.
“But has anyone seen Langford?” asked Phil in some concern, as they discussed the matter.
“Oh, Langford go on one big booze,” laughed Sol. “He turn up maybe in about one month, all shot to hell, then he sober up again for long time.”
“But doesn’t anyone know where he is?”
“Sure, sometimes!––maybe at Kelowna, then Kamloops. Somebody see him at Armstrong, then no see him for another while. Best thing you leave Jim Langford till he gets good and ready to come back. Only make trouble any other way. Everybody leave big Jim when he goes on a big toot.”
“Well,” said Phil with some decision, “I’m going after him anyway, and I’m going to stay right with him till he’s O.K.”
“All right, son––please yourself! We are not so busy now, but I tell you it no damn good. I know Jim Langford, five, maybe six year,––see!”
Phil set out to make inquiries.