He did not bestow any especial attention on his friend Hiram Look when the ex-circus man drove up to the hitching-post in front of the town house with a fine flourish, hitched and came in.

“Seems that your wife and mine have gone temperancin’ again to-day with the bunch,” remarked Hiram, relighting his cigar.  “I don’t know what difference it makes whether old Branscomb and the other soshes round here get their ruin in an express-package or help Ferd to a little business.  They’re bound to have it, anyway.”

“That ain’t the p’int,” protested Constable Nute, stiffly, throwing back his coat to display his badge.  “Ferd Parrott’s breakin’ the law, and it hurts my feelin’s as an officer to hear town magnates and reprusentative citizens glossin’ it over for him.”

The Cap’n stared at him balefully but did not trust himself to retort.  Hiram was not so cautious.  He bridled instantly and insolently.

“There’s always some folks in this world ready to stick their noses into the door-crack of a man’s business when they know the man ain’t got strength to slam the door shut on ’em.  Wimmen’s clubs is all right so long as they stick to readin’ hist’ry and discussin’ tattin’, but when they flock like a lot of old hen turkeys and go to peckin’ a man because he’s down and can’t help himself, it ain’t anything but persecution—­wolves turnin’ on another one that’s got his leg broke.  I know animiles, and I know human critters.  Them wimmen better be in other business, and I told my wife so this mornin’.”

“So did I,” said Cap’n Sproul, gloomily.

“And mine up at me like a settin’ hen.”

“So did mine,” assented the Cap’n.

“Gave me a lecture on duties of man to feller man.”

“Jest the same to my house.”

“Have any idea who’s been stuffin’ their heads with them notions?” inquired Hiram, malevolently.

“Remember that square-cornered female with a face harder’n the physog of a wooden figurehead that was here last winter, and took ’em aloft and told ’em how to reef parli’ment’ry law, and all such?” asked the Cap’n.  “Well, she was the one.”

“You mind my word,” cried Hiram, vibrating his cigar, “when a wife begins to take orders from an old maid in frosted specs instead of from her own husband, then the moths is gettin’ ready to eat the worsted out of the cardboard in the motto ‘God bless our home!’”

“Law is law,” broke in the unabashed representative of it, “and if the men-folks of this town ain’t got the gumption to stand behind an officer—­”

“Look here, Nute,” gritted the Cap’n, “I’ll stand behind you in about two seconds, and I’ll be standin’ on one foot, at that!  Don’t you go to castin’ slurs on your betters.  Because I’ve stood some talk from you to-day isn’t any sign that I’m goin’ to stand any more.”

Now the first selectman had the old familiar glint in his eyes, and Mr. Nute sat down meekly, returning no answer to the Cap’n’s sarcastic inquiry why he wasn’t over at the tavern acting as convoy for the Temperance Workers.