Issachar's response was as usual anything but low.
“Eh?” he shouted. “Goin' out? Where you goin'?”
“Oh, I'm just going out--er--on an errand.”
“What kind of an errand? I was cal'latin' to run out myself for a little spell. Can't I do your errand for you?”
“No, no. . . There, there, don't bother me any more. I'm in a hurry.”
“Hurry! So'm I in a hurry. I was cal'latin' to run acrost to the deepo and see Helen Kendall start for Boston. She's goin' this morning; did you know it?”
Before the somewhat flustered assistant bookkeeper could reply Captain Zelotes called from the inner office:
“Wouldn't wonder if that was where Al was bound, too,” he observed. “And I was thinkin' of the same thing. Suppose we all go together. Labe'll keep shop, won't you, Labe?”
Mr. Keeler looked over his spectacles. “Eh?” he observed. “Oh, yes, yes . . . yes, yes, yes. And say good-by to Helen for me, some of you, if you happen to think of it. Not that 'twill make much difference to her,” he added, “whether she gets my good-bys or not, but it might make some to me. . . . Um, yes, yes.”
“I'll tell her you sent 'em, Labe,” he said, patronizingly. “Set your mind to rest; I'll tell her.”
Laban's lip twitched. “Much obliged, Is,” he chirruped. “That's a great relief! My mind's rested some already.”
So, instead of going alone to the railway station, Albert made one of a delegation of three. And at the station was Mr. Kendall, and two of the school committee, and one or two members of the church sewing circle, and the president and secretary of the Society for the Relief of the French Wounded. So far from being an intimate confidential farewell, Helen's departure was in the nature of a public ceremony with speech-making. Mr. Price made most of the speeches, in fact the lower portion of his countenance was in violent motion most of the ten minutes.
“Take care of yourself, Helen,” he urged loudly. “Don't you worry about your pa, we'll look out for him. And don't let none of them Boston fellers carry you off. We'll watch and see that Eddie Raymond and Al here don't get into mischief while you're gone. I . . . Crimustee! Jim Young, what in time's the matter with you? Can't ye see nothin'?”
This last outburst was directed at the driver of the depot-wagon, who, wheeling a trunk on a baggage truck, had bumped violently into the rear of Mr. Price's legs, just at the knee joint, causing their owner to bend backward unexpectedly, and with enthusiasm.