“’Tain’t likely that the Ancients will ever forgit them dinners we had here, Mis’ Sproul,” remarked one of the men, ‘suffling’ the moisture at the corners of his mouth.

“Seein’ that you ain’t well, we don’t expect no speech, Cap’n,” said Murray, laying the documents upon Sproul’s knee.  “I see that the honor has overcome you, as it nat’rally might any man.  We will now take our leave with a very good-day, and wishin’ you all of the best, yours truly, and so forth.”  He backed away, and the others rose.

“Pass through the kitchen, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Sproul, eagerly.  “I will set out a treat.”  They trudged that way with deep bows at the threshold to their newly drafted foreman, who still glared at them speechlessly.

When Mrs. Sproul returned at length, still fluttering in her excitement, he was reading the little pamphlet that had been left with him, a brick-red color slowly crawling up the back of his neck.

“Just think of it for an honor, Aaron,” she stammered, “and you here in town only such a little while!  Oh, I am so proud of you!  Mr. Murray brought the things in his team and left them on the piazza.  I’ll run and get them.”

She spread them on the sitting-room floor, kneeling before him like a priestess offering sacrifice.  With his thumb in the pamphlet, he stared at the array.

There was a battered leather hat with a broad apron, or scoop, behind to protect the back.  On a faded red shield above the visor was the word “Foreman.”  There were two equally battered leather buckets.  There was a dented speaking-trumpet.  These the Cap’n dismissed one by one with an impatient scowl.  But he kicked at one object with his well foot.

“What’s that infernal thing?” he demanded.

“A bed-wrench, Aaron.  It’s to take apart corded beds so as to get them out of houses that are on fire.  There aren’t hardly any corded beds now, of course, but it’s a very old association that you’re foreman of, and the members keep the old things.  It’s awfully nice to do so, I think.  It’s like keeping the furniture in old families.  And that big bag there, with the puckerin’-string run around it, is the bag to put china and valuables into and lug away.”

“And your idee of an honor, is it,” he sneered, “is that I’m goin’ to put that dingbusset with a leather back-fin onto my head and grab up them two leather swill-pails and stick that iron thing there under my arm and grab that puckering-string bag in my teeth and start tophet-te-larrup over this town a-chasin’ fires?  Say—­” but his voice choked, and he began to read once more the pamphlet.  The red on the back of his neck grew deeper.

At last the explosion occurred.

“Louada Murilla Sproul, do you mean to say that you’ve had this thing in your fam’ly once, and was knowin’ what it meant, and then let them three Shanghaiers come in here and shove this bloodsucker bus’ness onto me, and git away all safe and sound?  I had been thinkin’ that your Todds and Wards was spreadin’ some sail for villuns, but they’re only moskeeters to Barb’ry pirates compared with this.”