"There's always some folks in this world ready to stick their noses
into the door-crack of a man's business when they know the man ain't
got strength to slam the door shut on 'em. Wimmen's clubs is all right
so long as they stick to readin' hist'ry and discussin' tattin', but
when they flock like a lot of old hen turkeys and go to peckin' a
man because he's down and can't help himself, it ain't anything but
persecution--wolves turnin' on another one that's got his leg broke.
I know animiles, and I know human critters. Them wimmen better be
in other business, and I told my wife so this mornin'."

"So did I," said Cap'n Sproul, gloomily.

"And mine up at me like a settin' hen."

"So did mine," assented the Cap'n.

"Gave me a lecture on duties of man to feller man."

"Jest the same to my house."

"Have any idea who's been stuffin' their heads with them notions?"
inquired Hiram, malevolently.

"Remember that square-cornered female with a face harder'n the
physog of a wooden figurehead that was here last winter, and took
'em aloft and told 'em how to reef parli'ment'ry law, and all such?"
asked the Cap'n. "Well, she was the one."

"You mind my word," cried Hiram, vibrating his cigar, "when a wife
begins to take orders from an old maid in frosted specs instead of
from her own husband, then the moths is gettin' ready to eat the
worsted out of the cardboard in the motto 'God bless our home!'"

"Law is law," broke in the unabashed representative of it, "and if
the men-folks of this town ain't got the gumption to stand behind
an officer--"

"Look here, Nute," gritted the Cap'n, "I'll stand behind you in about
two seconds, and I'll be standin' on one foot, at that! Don't you
go to castin' slurs on your betters. Because I've stood some talk
from you to-day isn't any sign that I'm goin' to stand any more."

Now the first selectman had the old familiar glint in his eyes, and
Mr. Nute sat down meekly, returning no answer to the Cap'n's
sarcastic inquiry why he wasn't over at the tavern acting as convoy
for the Temperance Workers.

Two minutes later some one came stamping along the corridor of the
town house. The office door was ajar, and this some one pushed it
open with his foot.

It was Landlord Ferd Parrott. In one hand he carried an old glazed
valise, in the other a canvas extension-case, this reduplication of
baggage indicating a serious intention on the part of Mr. Parrott
to travel far and remain long. His v