Before any one spoke the dozen men in the room had had ample time to
consider this suggestion. One or two of them glanced up at the clock
swinging its pendulum over the chimney piece. Then they went on with
what they were doing, glancing through old newspapers, dealing at
cards, smoking or just sitting and staring at nothing in particular.
"The last week has put lots of water in all the cricks," offered old man
Adams from his place by the fire. "Then with this cloud-bust an'
downpour today, it ain't real nice travellin'. That would be about all
that's holdin' Hap up. An' I'm tellin' you why: Did you ever hear a man
tell of a stick-up party on a night like this? No, sir! These here
stick-up gents got more sense than that; they'd be settin' nice an' snug
an' dry like us fellers, right now."
As usual, old man Adams had stated a theory with emphasis and utterly
without any previous reflection, being a positive soul, but never a
brilliant. And, again quite as usual, a theory stated was naturally to
be combated with more or less violence. Out of the innocent enough
statement there grew a long, devious argument. An argument which was at
its height and evincing no signs of ever getting anywhere at all, when
from the night without came the rattle of wheels, the jingle of harness
chains and Hap Smith's voice shouting out the tidings of his tardy
arrival.
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