"At which startling news, Mr. Emerson, with his customary vivacity, smiled
engagingly, and answered back:

"'Why do you reckon he has departed, Mr. Fraser?"

"'Because he's lost his voice cussing us,' I replied, graciously.

"'Oh no!' exclaimed the genial Mr. Emerson, more for the sake of
conversation than argument; 'he has got cold feet!' Evidently unwilling to
let the conversation lag, the garrulous Mr. Emerson continued, 'It's a
dark night without, and I fear some mischief is afoot.'

"'Yes; but what of yonder beautchous gel?' said I, at which he burst into
wild laughter."

Emerson laid down his book.

"What are you muttering about?" he asked.

"I merely remarked that our scandalized Scandalusian has got tired of
singin' Won't You Open that Door and Let Me In? and has ducked."

"Where has he gone?"

"I ain't no mind-reader; maybe he's loped off to Seattle after a policeman
and a writ of _ne plus ultra._ Maybe he has gone after a clump of his
countrymen--this is herding-season for Swedes."

Without answering, Emerson rose, and, going to the inner door, called