“About the only customers that stick by us,” declared Isaiah, “are folks like ’Rastus Young and the rest of the deadbeats.  They wouldn’t leave us for nothin’—­and nothin’s what they pay, too, drat ’em!”

The partners had not told him of their troubles, but telling was not necessary.  He had seen and heard enough.

“They are right on the ragged edge of goin’ on the rocks,” vowed Isaiah.  “Zoeth, he’s that thin and peaked ’twould make a sick pullet look fleshy alongside of him.  And Cap’n Shad goes around with his hands rammed down in his beckets—­”

“In his what?”

“In his britches pockets, and he don’t scurcely speak a word for hours at a stretch.  And they’re up all times of the night, fussin’ over account books and writin’ letters and I don’t know what all.  It’s plain enough what’s comin’.  Everybody in town is on to it.  Why, I was up to the store t’other day settin’ outside on the steps and Ab Bacheldor came along.  He hates Cap’n Shad worse’n pizen, you know.  ‘Hello, Isaiah!’ he says to me, he says.  ‘Is that you?’ he says.  ‘Course it’s me,’ says I. Who’d you think ‘twas?’ ‘I didn’t know but it might be the sheriff,’ he says.  ‘I understand he’s settin’ round nowadays just a-waitin’.’  And Zoeth was right within hearin’, too!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mary indignantly.

“Yup, that’s what he said,” went on Isaiah.  “But I got in one dig on my own hook.  ’The sheriff don’t wait much down to your house, Abner, does he?’ says I.  ‘You bet he don’t,’ says he; ‘he don’t have to.’  ’Well, he’d starve to death if he waited there long,’ says I. Ho, ho!  His wife’s the stingiest woman about her cookin’ that there is on the Cape.  Why, one time she took a notion she’d keep boarders and Henry Ryder, that drives the fruit cart, he started to board there.  But he only stayed two days.  The fust day they had biled eggs and the next day they had soup made out of the shells.  Course that probably ain’t true—­Henry’s an awful liar—­but all the same—­”

“Never mind Henry Ryder, or Abner Bacheldor, either,” interrupted Mary.  “How did you happen to send for me, Isaiah?”

“Eh?  Oh, that just came of itself, as you might say.  I kept gettin’ more and more tittered up and worried as I see how things was goin’ and I kept wishin’ you was here, if ’twas only to have somebody to talk it over with.  But I didn’t dast to write and when you was home Christmas I never dast to say nothin’ because Cap’n Shad had vowed he’d butcher me if I told tales to you about any home troubles.  That’s it, you see!  All through this their main idea has been not to trouble you.  ’She mustn’t know anything or she’ll worry,’ says Zoeth, and Cap’n Shad he says, ‘That’s so.’  They think an awful sight of you, Mary-’Gusta.”

Mary did not trust herself to look up.

“I know,” she said.  “Go on, Isaiah.”