Bachelor Lot coughed slightly and smiled. "Very true," he drawled,
cheerfully, in his small, thin voice; "I'm--ahem!--I'm not a married man
myself, you know, Captain. However," he added; "you should have given me
another try. I had the correct answer on my tongue's end."
During this brief exchange between the stars of the Wallencamp debate
ground, murmurs of appreciative applause arose from the group of
bystanders, and "Pretty tight pinch for you, Captain!" and "Three cheers
for Bachelder! ye can't git ahead of Bachelder!" sprang delightedly from
lip to lip.
Aunt Sibylla had scented from within this buoyant resumption of the
Wallencamp mirth, and now appeared on the scene, bearing a burning
lantern in her hand. She first turned the glare of its full orb on the
late sin-convicted Captain, who stood revealed with a guilty grin frozen
helplessly on his alarmed features, and next directed the beams of
disclosing justice towards the form of the little bachelor, who, with
too pronounced meekness, was engaged in readjusting the collar of his
coat.
"At it ag'in!" Aunt Sibylla exclaimed, with slow and cutting emphasis.
"At it ag'in! I do believe you're all possessed of the devil!"
Then, with one sweep of the lantern, she took a comprehensive survey of
the shivering group, and passed on without another word, while in the
breast of every guilty Wallencamper then present there rested a deep
sense of merited condemnation.
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