flight and of his seizure of the roadster only added to their bitterness.

Humpy rose and paced the floor with the quick, short stride of men
habituated to narrow spaces. The Hopper watched the telltale step so
disagreeably reminiscent of evil times and shrugged his shoulders
impatiently.

"Set down, Hump; ye make me nervous. I got thinkin' to do."

"Ye'd better be quick about doin' ut!" Humpy snorted with an oath.

"Cut the cussin'!" The Hopper admonished sharply. Since his retirement to
private life he had sought diligently to free his speech of profanity and
thieves' slang, as not only unbecoming in a respectable chicken farmer,
but likely to arouse suspicions as to his origin and previous condition of
servitude. "Can't ye see Shaver ain't use to ut? Shaver's a little gent;
he's a reg'ler little juke; that's wot Shaver is."

"The more 'way up he is the worse fer us," whimpered Humpy. "It's
kidnapin', that's wot ut is!"

"That's wot it _ain't_," declared The Hopper, averting a calamity to his
watch, which Shaver was swinging by its chain. "He was took by accident I
tell ye! I'm goin' to take Shaver back to his ma--ain't I, Shaver?"

"Take 'im back!" echoed Mary.

Humpy crumpled up in his chair at this new evidence of The Hopper's
insanity.