Disko was smoking in all his shore dignity and a pair of beautiful carpet-slippers.
“You’re gettin’ ez crazy as poor Harve. You two go araound gigglin’ an’ squinchin’ an’ kickin’ each other under the table till there’s no peace in the haouse,” said he.
“There’s goin’ to be a heap less—fer some folks,” Dan replied. “You wait an’ see.”
He and Harvey went out on the trolley to East Gloucester, where they tramped through the bayberry bushes to the lighthouse, and lay down on the big red boulders and laughed themselves hungry. Harvey had shown Dan a telegram, and the two swore to keep silence till the shell burst.
“Harve’s folk?” said Dan, with an unruffled face after supper. “Well, I guess they don’t amount to much of anything, or we’d ha’ heard from ’em by naow. His pop keeps a kind o’ store out West. Maybe he’ll give you ’s much as five dollars, Dad.”
“What did I tell ye?” said Salters. “Don’t sputter over your vittles, Dan.”