Pierce the cigar he'd won in the wood-chopping contest.
But if Mr. Pierce was making a hit with the guests, he wasn't so popular
with the Van Alstynes or the Carters. The night the cigar stand was
closed Mr. Sam came to me and leaned over the counter.
"Put the key in a drawer," he said. "I can slip down here after the
lights are out and get a smoke."
"Can't do it, Mr. Van Alstyne," I said. "Got positive orders."
"That doesn't include me." He was still perfectly good-humored.
"Sorry," I said. "Have to have a written order from Mr. Pierce."
He put a silver dollar on the desk between us and looked at me over it.
"Will that open the case?" he asked. But I shook my head.
"Well, I'll be hanged! What the devil sort of order did he give you?"
"He said," I repeated, "that I'd be coaxed and probably bribed to open
the cigar case, and that you'd probably be the first one to do it, but
I was to stick firm; you've been smoking too much, and your nerves are
going."
"Insolent young puppy!" he exclaimed angrily, and stamped away.
So that I was not surprised when on that night, Friday, I was told to be
at the shelter-house at ten o'clock for a protest meeting. Mrs. Sam told
me.
"Something has to be done," she said. "I don't intend to stand much
more. Nobody has the right to say when I shall eat or what. If I want to
eat fried shoe leather, that's my affair."
We met at ten o'clock at the shelter-house, everybody having gone to
bed--Miss Patty, the Van Alstynes and myself.
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