le house seemed to him charged with some
unwholesome electricity. It kindled his wife's eyes, stimulating the
deputy and his follower to coarse playfulness, enthralled his own limbs
to the convulsive tightening of his fingers around the rungs of his
chair. Yet he managed to cling to his idea of keeping his wife occupied,
and of preventing any eyeshot between her and her guests, or the
indulgence of dangerously flippant conversation, by ordering her to
bring some refreshment. "What's gone o' the whiskey bottle?" he said,
after fumbling in the cupboard.

Mrs. Beasley did not blench. She only gave her head a slight toss. "Ef
you men can't get along with the coffee and flapjacks I'm going to give
ye, made with my own hands, ye kin just toddle right along to the
first bar, and order your tangle-foot there. Ef it's a barkeeper you're
looking for, and not a lady, say so!"

The novel audacity of this speech, and the fact that it suggested
that preoccupation he hoped for, relieved Ira for a moment, while it
enchanted the guests as a stroke of coquettish fascination. Mrs. Beasley
triumphantly disappeared in the kitchen, slipped off her cuffs and set
to work, and in a few moments emerged with a tray bearing the cakes and
steaming coffee. As neither she nor her husband ate anything (possibly
owing to an equal preoccupation) the guests were obliged to confine
their attentions to the repast before them. The sun, too, was already
nearing the horizon, and although its nearly level beams acted like a
powerful search-light over the stretching plain, twilight would soon
put an end to the quest. Yet they lingered. Ira now foresaw a new
difficulty: the cows were to be brought up and fodder taken from the
barn; to do this he would be obliged to leave his wife and the deputy
together. I do not know if Mrs. Beasley divined his perplexity, but she
carelessly offered to perform that evening function herself. Ira's heart
leaped and sank again as the deputy gallantly proposed to assist her.
But here rustic simplicity seemed to be equal to the occasion. "Ef I
propose to do Ira's work," said Mrs. Beasley, with provocative archness,
"it's because I reckon he'll do more good helpin' you catch your
man than you'll do helpin' ME! So clear out, both of ye!" A feminine
audacity that recalled the deputy to himself, and left him no choice but
to accept Ira's aid. I do not know whether Mrs. Beasley felt a pang of
conscience as her husband arose gratefully a