“Hello!” cried Harvey, looking down upon them benignly from the wharf.
“I wuz mistook, Harve. I wuz mistook,” said Disko, swiftly, holding up a hand. “I wuz mistook in my jedgments. Ye needn’t rub in any more.”
“Guess I’ll take care o’ that,” said Dan, under his breath.
“You’ll be goin’ off naow, won’t ye?”
“Well, not without the balance of my wages, ’less you want to have the We’re Here attached.”
“Thet’s so; I’d clean forgot”; and he counted out the remaining dollars. “You done all you contracted to do, Harve; and you done it ’baout’s well as if you’d been brought up—” Here Disko brought himself up. He did not quite see where the sentence was going to end.
“Outside of a private car?” suggested Dan, wickedly.
“Come on, and I’ll show her to you,” said Harvey.
Cheyne stayed to talk with Disko, but the others made a procession to the depot, with Mrs. Cheyne at the head. The French maid shrieked at the invasion; and Harvey laid the glories of the “Constance” before them without a word. They took them in in equal silence—stamped leather, silver doorhandles and rails, cut velvet, plate-glass, nickel, bronze, hammered iron, and the rare woods of the continent inlaid.
“I told you,” said Harvey; “I told you.” This was his crowning revenge, and a most ample one.
Mrs. Cheyne decreed a meal, and that nothing might be lacking to the tale Long Jack told afterwards in his boardinghouse, she waited on them herself. Men who are accustomed to eat at tiny tables in howling gales