ain. "Miss Preston gone yit?"

"No, she ain't," replied the boy, continuing to whittle. "She's up
there. Mr. Saunders is there, too."

"Saunders? WEB SAUNDERS?"

"Yup. I see him go in there a little while ago." Captain Eri started
toward the schoolhouse at a rapid pace; then he suddenly stopped; and
then, as suddenly, walked on again. All at once he dropped his umbrella
and struck one hand into the palm of the other with a smack.

When he reached the door, he leaned the umbrella in the corner and
walked up the stairs very softly, indeed.

CHAPTER XVI

A BUSINESS CALL

That enterprising business man, Mr. "Web" Saunders, opened the door of
his renovated billiard room a little later than usual the next morning.
It was common report about the village that Mr. Saunders occasionally
sampled the contents of some of the "original packages" which, bearing
the name and address of a Boston wholesale liquor dealer, came to him
by express at irregular intervals. It was also reported, probably by
unreliable total abstainers, that during these "sampling" seasons
his temper was not of the best. Perhaps Mrs. Saunders might have said
something concerning this report if she had been so disposed, but unless
a discolored eye might be taken as evidence, she never offered any. The
injury to her eye she explained by saying that something "flew up and
hit her." This was no doubt true.

But, gossip aside, Mr. Saunders did not seem in good humor on this
particular morning. A yellow cur, of nondescript breed, taken since the
fire, in payment of a debt from "Squealer" Wixon, who had described it
as a "fust-class watchdog," rose from its bed behind the cigar counter,
yawned, stretched, and came slinking over to greet its master. "Web"
forcibly hoisted it out of the door on the toe of his boot. Its yelp of
pained surprise seemed to afford the business man considerable relief,
for he moved more briskly afterward, and proceeded to sweep the floor
with some degree of speed.

The forenoon trade at the billiard room was never very lively, and this
forenoon was no exception. "Bluey" Batcheldor drifted in, stepped into
the little room the door of which was lettered "Ice Cream Parlor," and
busied himself with a glass and bottle for a few moments. Then he helped
himself to a cigar from the showcase, and told his friend to "chalk it
up." This Mr. Saunders didn't seem to care to do, and there was a lively
argument. At length "Bluey's" promise t