“Ahoy!” answered the voice of Mr. Adams.
“What’s up?” Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Jope ran the barber before him up the beach to the doorway, the parson following. “What’s up?” he demanded again, as he drew breath.
“Take an’ see for yourself,” answered Mr. Adams, darkly, pointing with his chisel. A fine fragrance of rum permeated the air of the store.
Mr. Jope advanced and peered into the staved cask. “Gone?” he exclaimed, and gazed around blankly.
Bill Adams nodded.
“But where? . . . You don’t say he’s dissolved?”
“It ain’t the usual way o’ rum. And it is rum?” Bill appealed to the parson.
“By the smell, undoubtedly.”
“I tell you what’s happened. That fool of a Wilkins has made a mistake in the cask . . . ”
“An’ Eli?—oh Lord! Eh?” gasped Mr. Jope.