They waited. No one spoke. Then, with one impulse, every face swung about and looked up to where, upon the wall, hung the life-size photograph of the Major, dignified, gracious, and gilt-framed.
It had been presented to the club two months before by Cuthbertson Scott Hardee, himself.
"Ike--Ike Peters," said Higgins. "Say, Ike--has he ever paid you for havin' that took?"
Mr. Peters, who was the town photographer, reddened, hesitated, and then stammered, "Why, no, he ain't, yet."
"Humph!" grunted Higgins. No one else said anything. One or two took out pocket memorandum books and went over some figures entered therein. Judging by their faces the results of these calculations were not pleasing. Obed was the first to break the painful silence:
"Well!" he exclaimed, sarcastically; "ain't nobody got nothin' to say? If they ain't, I have. Or, at any rate, I've got somethin' to do." And he rose and started to put on his coat.
"Hi! hold on a minute, Obed, you loon!" cried Higgins. "Where are you goin'?"
"I'm goin' to put my bill in Squire Baker's hands for c'lection, and I'm goin' to do it tonight, too."
He was on his way to the door, but two or three ran to stop him.
"Don't be a fool, Obed," said Higgins. "Don't go off ha'f cocked.
Maybe we're gittin' scared about nothin'. We don't know but we'll get every cent that's owed us."
"Don't KNOW! Well, I ain't goin' to wait to find out. What makes me b'ilin' is to think how we've set still and let a man that we never saw afore last March, and don't know one blessed thing about, run up bills and RUN 'em up. How we come to be such everlastin' fools I don't see! What did we let him have the stuff for? Why didn't we make him pay? I--"
"Now see here, Obed Gott," broke in Weeks, the butcher, "you know why just as well as we do. Why, blast it!" he added earnestly, "if he was to come into my shop to-morrow and tip that old high hat of his, and smile and say 'twas a fine mornin and 'How's the good lady to-day?' and all that, he'd get ha'f the meat there was in the place, and I wouldn't say 'Boo'! I jest couldn't, that's all."
This frank statement was received with approving nods and a chorus of muttered "That's so's."
"It looks to me this way," declared Higgins. "If the Major's all right, he's a mighty good customer for all of us. If he ain't all right, we've got to find it out, but we're in too deep to run resks of gettin' him mad 'fore we know for sure. Let's think it over for a week. Inside of that time some of us'll hint to him, polite but firm, you understand, that we've got to have something on account.
A week from to-night we'll meet in the back room of my store, talk it over and decide what to do. What do you say?"
Everybody but Obed agreed. He declared that he had lost money enough and wasn't going to be a fool any longer. The others argued with him patiently for a while and then Leadbetter, the livery stable keeper, said sharply:
"See here, Obe! You ain't the only one in this. How much does the Major owe you?"
"Pretty nigh twenty dollars."
"Humph! You're lucky. He owes me over thirty, and I guess Higgins is worse off than any of us. Ain't that so, Beriah?"
"About seventy, even money," answered the grocer, shortly. "No use, Obed, we've got to hang together. Wait a week and then see.
And, fellers," he added, "don't tell a soul about this business, 'specially the women folks. There ain't a woman nor girl in this town that don't think Major Hardee's an A1, gold-plated saint, and twouldn't be safe to break the spell on a guess."
Obed reached home even more disgruntled than when he left it. He sat up until after twelve, thinking and smoking, and when he went to bed he had a brilliant idea. The next morning he wrote a letter and posted it.
