“Well, first you got a dog that tries to chew me up, ’cause I come past the gate. An’ then you stand me off fer a bite to eat, like you was afraid to—”
“Not at all,” the man said hastily. “Come along. We can give you something to eat anyway.” He started up the path and Barney followed him grudgingly.
“Sorry if I did n’t seem quite hospitable,” he said, in an attempt at jocularity. “We have n’t any servant just at present, and my wife has to do the cooking. Sit down on the veranda here, till I speak to her.”
“I on’y wanted some bread and butter—an’ somethin’ to drink.”
“All right. Make yourself comfortable.” He waved his hand at a wicker chair and a hickory rocker on the veranda. Barney chose the wicker chair.
There were no lights in this wing of the house, which overlooked the road. The only light that Barney had seen was shining on a bush from a distant window where some one
