“I warned ye,” said Dan, as the drops fell thick and fast on the dark, oiled planking. “Dad ain’t noways hasty, but you fair earned it. Pshaw! there’s no sense takin’ on so.”
Harvey’s shoulders were rising and falling in spasms of dry sobbing.
“I know the feelin’. First time Dad laid me out was the last—and that was my first trip. Makes ye feel sickish an’ lonesome. I know.”
“It does,” moaned Harvey. “That man’s either crazy or drunk, and—and I can’t do anything.”
“Don’t say that to Dad,” whispered Dan. “He’s set agin all liquor, an’—well, he told me you was the madman. What in creation made you call him a thief? He’s my dad.”
Harvey sat up, mopped his nose, and told the story of