“Emigrate?” said Val Manning.
“Yes,” replied Zeb, dolefully; “there isn’t room for him and me in the same village. And yet I must remain and see how he and Solomon will work together. Old Sol has his eye on you, my boy, but you needn’t be afraid of George Brayton. I’ve great confidence in George.”
But the boys were not the only part of the village population that continued to be exercised about the bell business.
Dr. Dryer instituted what he called “an exhaustive analysis of the mysterious phenomenon” at an early hour in the forenoon, but he never put his head above the “deck,” and he acquired no additional wisdom.
Brayton had deemed his own search of the previous night sufficient for the present, and he had, besides, some private matters of his own to attend to that day.
His morning mail had brought him news of some of these, and had sent him to Mrs. Wood with a request that she would prepare a room for his mother and sister, who were coming to pay him a visit.
There was no reason, thought his landlady, why he should get so very much flushed in the face about it; but George Brayton did not care the rest of that day whether the Academy had one bell or ten.
Mrs. Dryer did, however, and she talked “bell” till her pretty stepdaughter could stand it no longer, but put on her bonnet for a very aimless flight among her neighbors.
There, too, it was the bell, the bell, till poor Effie reached a state of mind which led her to say to George Brayton, when she met him crossing the green:
“Please don’t speak to me. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”