"I never knew it afore," he drawled. "A suspicious character is an
important one, ain't it? I--er--I'm flattered."
"Humph! Well, you realize it now, I suppose?"
"Cal'late I'll have to, long's your--er--chummie there says it's
so."
The expression of horror upon Lieutenant Rayburn's face at hearing
himself referred to as "chummie" to his superior officer was worth
seeing.
"Oh, I say, sir!" he explained. The major paid no attention.
"What were you and this man," indicating the big carpenter,
"bristling up to each other for?" he inquired.
"Well, this guy he--" began the workman. Major Grover motioned him
to be quiet.
"I asked the other fellow," he said. Jed rubbed his chin once
more.
"He said I was a German spy," he replied.
"Are you?"
"No." The answer was prompt enough and emphatic enough. Major
Grover tugged at the corner of his mustache.
"Well, I--I admit you don't look it," he observed, dryly. "What's
your name and who are you?"
Jed told his name, his place of residence and his business.
"Is there any one about here who knows you, who could prove you
were who you say you are?"
Mr. Winslow considered. "Ye-es," he drawled. "Ye-es, I guess so.
'Thoph Mullett and 'Bial Hardy and Georgie T. Nickerson and
Squealer Wixon, they're all carpenterin' over here and they're from
Orham and know me.
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