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Mr. Diggs sat straight up at the vision of his spouse. “Flouncing Florence!” was his exclamation. “Gee-whittaker, Mary, if you ain’t the most unmitigated sight!” And wind then left him.

Mary’s reply arrived in tones like a hornet stinging slowly and often. “Mr. Diggs, I have put up with many things, and am expecting to put up with many more. But you’d behave better if you consorted with gentlemen.”

The door slammed and she was gone. Not a word to either of the boys, not even any notice of them. It was thorough, and silence consequently held them for a moment.

“He didn’t mean anything,” said Bertie, growing partially responsible.

“Didn’t mean anything,” repeated Billy, like a lesson.

“I’ll take him and he’ll apologize,” Bertie pursued, walking over to Billy.

“He’ll apologize,” went Billy, like a cheerful piece of mechanism. Responsibility was still quite distant from him.

Mr. Diggs got his wind back. “Better not,” he advised in something near a whisper. “Better not go after her. Her father was a fightin’ preacher, and she’s–well, begosh! she’s a chip of the old pulpit.” And he rolled his eye towards the door. Another door slammed somewhere above, and they gazed at each other, did Bertie and Mr. Diggs. Then Mr. Diggs, still gazing at Bertie, beckoned to him with a speaking eye and a crooked finger; and as he beckoned, Bertie approached like a conspirator and sat down close to him. “Begosh!” whispered Mr. Diggs. “Unmitigated.” And at this he and Bertie laid their heads down on the table and rolled about in spasms.

Billy from his corner seemed to become aware of them. With his eye fixed upon them like a statue, he came across the room, and, sitting down near them with formal politeness, observed, “Was you ever to the battle of Antietam?” This sent them beyond the limit; and they rocked their heads on the table and wept as if they would expire.

Thus the three remained, during what space of time is not known: the two upon the table, convalescent with relapses, and Billy like a seated idol, unrelaxed at his vigil. The party was seen through the windows by Silas, coming from the stable to inquire if the gelding should not be harnessed. Silas leaned his face to the pane, and envy spoke plainly in it. “O my! O my!” he mentioned aloud to himself. So we have the whole household: Mrs. Diggs reposing scornfully in an upper chamber; all parts of the tavern darkened, save the one lighted room; the three inside that among their bottles, with the one outside looking covetously in at them; and the gelding stamping in the stable.

But Silas, since he could not share, was presently of opinion that this was enough for one sitting, and he tramped heavily upon the porch. This brought Bertie back to the world of reality, and word was given to fetch the gelding. The host was in no mood to part with them, and spoke of comfortable beds and breakfast as early as they liked; but Bertie had become entirely responsible. Billy was helped in, Silas was liberally thanked, and they drove away beneath the stars, leaving behind them golden opinions, and a host who decided not to disturb his helpmate by retiring to rest in their conjugal bed.

Bertie had forgotten, but the playful gelding had not. When they came abreast of that gate where Diggs of the Bird-in-Hand had met them at sunset, Bertie was only aware that a number of things had happened at once, and that he had stopped the horse after about twenty yards of battle. Pride filled him, but emptied away in the same instant, for a voice on the road behind him spoke inquiringly through the darkness.

“Did any one fall out?” said the voice. “Who fell out?”