buy a week's provisions first thing, that they'd bring the things home with them on their horses, and that they'd come home early. And now—they'd spent his money as well as their own! Andy made no remarks and asked no questions when they woke at midday; and they took his silence in a chastened spirit.
Andy Page was a patriot and a democrat, too, the most earnest of the three; but he was as obstinately teetotal as he was honest and truthful. Dave was the head of the party, but Andy was the father. Andy had, on several occasions, gone into town with Dave and Jim on pay nights—to look after them, to fight for them if necessary, and to get them home, if possible, when they'd had enough. It was a thankless job, but Andy was loved by his mates, who nevertheless, when drunk, even wanted to fight him when he stood out against "one more drink for the last." He was as strong physically, as well as morally, as the two put together; and was respected even by the publican whom he abused for serving his mates when they'd had enough. But the last spree but one had disgusted Andy. He swore he'd never go into town with them again, and like most simple-minded, honest, good-natured fellows whose ideas come slowly, who are slow at arriving at decisions (and whose decisions are nearly invariably right), when he'd once made up his mind nothing short of a severe shock of earthquake could move him. So he stayed at home on Anniversary Day, and washed and mended his clothes.
Dave and Jim were still moping wretchedly about the hut when, towards the middle of the afternoon,
