He now hurled a strange
mass of language at the head of his son. "What do I keep? What do I
keep? What do I keep?" he demanded in a voice of thunder. He slapped
his knee impressively, to indicate that he himself was going to make
reply, and that all should heed. "I keep a hotel," he shouted. "A
hotel, do you mind? A guest under my roof has sacred privileges. He is
to be intimidated by none. Not one word shall he hear that would
prijudice him in favor of goin' away. I'll not have it. There's no
place in this here town where they can say they iver took in a guest
of mine because he was afraid to stay here." He wheeled suddenly
upon the cowboy and the Easterner. "Am I right?"
"Yes, Mr. Scully," said the cowboy, "I think you're right."
"Yes, Mr. Scully," said the Easterner, "I think you're right."
V
At six-o'clock supper, the Swede fizzed like a firewheel. He
sometimes seemed on the point of bursting into riotous song, and in
all his madness he was encouraged by old Scully. The Easterner was
incased in reserve; the cowboy sat in wide-mouthed amazement,
forgetting to eat, while Johnnie wrathily demolished great plates of
food. The daughters of the house when they were obliged to replenish
the biscuits approached as warily as Indians, and, having succeeded in
their purposes, fled with ill-concealed trepidation. The Swede
domineered the whole feast, and he gave it the appearance of a cruel
bacchanal.
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