Colonel Flitcroft caught him surreptitiously by the arm.  “SH, Eskew!” he whispered.  “Look out what you’re sayin’!”

“You needn’t mind me,” Jonas Tabor spoke up, crisply.  “I washed my hands of all responsibility for Roger’s branch of the family long ago.  Never was one of ’em had the energy or brains to make a decent livin’, beginning with Roger; not one worth his salt!  I set Roger’s son up in business, and all the return he ever made me was to go into bankruptcy and take to drink, till he died a sot, like his wife did of shame.  I done all I could when I handed him over my store, and I never expect to lift a finger for ’em again.  Ariel Tabor’s my grandniece, but she didn’t act like it, and you can say anything you like about her, for what I care.  The last time I spoke to her was a year and a half ago, and I don’t reckon I’ll ever trouble to again.”

“How was that, Jonas?” quickly inquired Mr. Davey, who, being the eldest of the party, was the most curious.  “What happened?”

“She was out in the street, up on that high bicycle of Joe Louden’s.  He was teachin’ her to ride, and she was sittin’ on it like a man does.  I stopped and told her she wasn’t respectable.  Sixteen years old, goin’ on seventeen!”

“What did she say?”

“Laughed,” said Jonas, his voice becoming louder as the recital of his wrongs renewed their sting in his soul.  “Laughed!”

“What did you do?”

“I went up to her and told her she wasn’t a decent girl, and shook the wheel.”  Mr. Tabor illustrated by seizing the lapels of Joe Davey and shaking him.  “I told her if her grandfather had any spunk she’d git an old-fashioned hidin’ for behavin’ that way.  And I shook the wheel again.”  Here Mr. Tabor, forgetting in the wrath incited by the recollection that he had not to do with an inanimate object, swung the gasping and helpless Mr. Davey rapidly back and forth in his chair.  “I shook it good and hard!”

“What did she do then?” asked Peter Bradbury.

“Fell off on me,” replied Jonas, violently.  “On purpose!”

“I wisht she’d killed ye,” said Mr. Davey, in a choking voice, as, released, he sank back in his chair.

“On purpose!” repeated Jonas.  “And smashed a straw hat I hadn’t had three months!  All to pieces!  So it couldn’t be fixed!”

“And what then?” pursued Bradbury.

“She ran,” replied Jonas, bitterly—­” ran!  And Joe Louden—­Joe Louden—­” He paused and gulped.

“What did he do?” Peter leaned forward in his chair eagerly.

The narrator of the outrage gulped again, and opened and shut his mouth before responding.

“He said if I didn’t pay for a broken spoke on his wheel he’d have to sue me!”

No one inquired if Jonas had paid, and Jonas said no more.  The recollection of his wrongs, together with the illustrative violence offered to Mr. Davey, had been too much for him.  He sank back, panting, in his chair, his hands fluttering nervously over his heart, and closed his eyes.