“Gaslucky has been caught in a wheat corner at Chicago,” Lucas explained, “and has been squeezed to death.”
“Dead!” cried Punner, “it’s a great loss. We’ll have to hold a meeting and pass res——”
“We’ll have to get out of this place in short order,” said Lucas, “the sheriff has an on the hotel and all it contains.”
“What!”
“How’s that?”
“Do you mean that the house is to be shut up and we turned out?”
“Just that,” said Lucas. “The sheriff has every thing, even the provisions on hand. He says that we can’t eat another bite here.”
“And I’m starving even now!” exclaimed Punner. “I could eat most anything. Let’s walk round to Delmonico’s, Cattleton.”
“But really, what can we do?” demanded Ferris, dolefully enough.
“Go home, of course,” said Cattleton.
Ferris looked blank and stood with his hands thrust in his pockets.
“I can’t go home,” he presently remarked.
“Why?”
“I haven’t money enough to pay my way.”
“By George! neither have I!” exclaimed Cattleton with a start.
“That is my fix,” said Lucas gravely.
“You echo my predicament,” said Peck.
“My salary is suspended during my absence,” said Punner, with his eyes on the floor.
Little Mrs. Philpot was speechless for a time as the force of the situation broke upon her.
“Squeezed in a wheat corner?” inquired Miss Stackpole, “what do you mean by that?”
“I mean that Gaslucky got in the big deal the other day at Chicago,” Lucas explained.
“Got sheared?”
“Yes, the bulls sat down on him.”
“Oh, you mean a speculation—a—”
“Yes, Gaslucky was in for all he was worth, and they run it down on him and him. A gas-man’s no business in wheat, especially in Chicago; they spread him out, just as the sheriffs have flattened all our hopes for the present.”
“It’s just !” cried little Mrs. Philpot, finding her voice. “He should have notified us, so that—”
“They didn’t notify him, I guess,” said Cattleton.
“No, he found it out afterwards,” remarked Lucas, glancing gloomily toward where Dunkirk and Miss Moyne stood, in light and pleasant conversation.
Viewed in any light the predicament was a and one to the guests of Hotel Helicon. The sheriff, a rather ignorant,[133] but very stubborn and man, held executions and of attachment sued out by Gaslucky , which he had proceeded to on the hotel and on all the personalty visible in it belonging to the .
“’Course,” said he, “hit’ll be poorty hard on you’ns, but I can’t help it, I’ve got ter do my juty, let it hurt whoever it will. Not er thing ye tech at’s in this yer , ’ceptin’ what’s your’n, that air’s jest how it air. So now mind w’at yer a doin’.”
The servants were idle, the dining-room closed, the kitchen and pantries locked up. Never was there a more doleful set of people. Mrs. Nancy Jones Black thought of playing a piece of sacred music, but she found the grand piano locked, with its key deep in the sheriff’s pocket.
The situation was made doubly disagreeable when at last the officer informed the guests that they would have to vacate their rooms forthwith, as he should proceed at once to close up the building.
“Heavens, man, are you going to turn us out into the woods?” demanded Peck.
“Woods er no woods,” he replied, “ye’ll hev ter git out’n yer, right off.”
“But the ladies, Mr. Sheriff,” suggested Punner, “no Southern gentleman can turn a lady out of doors.”
The officer actually colored with the force of the insinuation. He stood silent for some time with his eyes on the floor. Presently he looked up and said:
“The weeming kin stay till mornin’.”
“Well they must have something to eat,” said Punner. “They can’t starve.”
“Thet’s so,” the sheriff admitted, “they kin hev a bite er so.”
“And we——”
“You men folks cayn’t hev a dorg gone mouthful, so shet up!”
“Well,” observed Cattleton, dryly, “it appears the is the difference between falling into the hands of moonshiners and coming under the influence of a sheriff.”
“I know a little law,” interposed Bartley Hubbard with a emphasis, “and I know that this sheriff has no right to tumble us out of doors, and for my part——”
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