“Evenin', gentlemen,” said the captain, opening the door so briskly that Mr. Thomas started backward and came down heavily upon the toes of the devoted Tad. Mr. Simpson swore, Mr. Thomas clawed about him to gain equilibrium, and the dignity of the group was seriously impaired. “Evenin',” repeated Captain Cy. “Quite a surprise party you're givin' me. Come in.” “Cyrus,” began the Honorable Atkins, “we are here to claim--” “Give me my daughter, you robber!” demanded Thomas, from his new position in the rear of the other two. “Mr. Thomas,” said Heman, “please remember that I am conducting this affair. I respect the natural indignation of an outraged father, but--ahem! Cyrus, we are here to claim--” “Then do your claimin' inside. It's kind of chilly to-night, there's plenty of empty chairs, and we don't need to hold an overflow meetin'. Come ahead in.” The trio looked at each other in hesitation. Then Mr. Atkins majestically entered the dining room. Thomas and Simpson followed him. “Abe,” observed Captain Cy to Leonard, who was advancing toward the steps, “I'm sorry not to be hospitable, but there's too many of you to invite at once, and 'tain't polite to show partiality. You and the rest are welcome to sit on the terrace or stroll 'round the deer park. Good night.” He closed the door in the face of the disappointed Abel and turned to the three in the room. “Well,” he said, “out with it. You've come to claim somethin', I understand.” “I come for my rights,” shouted Mr. Thomas. “Yes? Well, this ain't State's prison or I'd give 'em to you with pleasure. Heman, you'd better do the talkin'. We'll probably get ahead faster.” The Honorable cleared his throat and waved his hand. “Cyrus,” he began, “you are my boyhood friend and my fellow townsman and neighbor. Under such circumstances it gives me pain--” “Then don't let us discuss painful subjects. Let's get down to business. You've come to rescue Bos'n--Emily, that is,--from the 'robber'--I'm quotin' Deacon Thomas here--that's got her, so's to turn her over to her sorrowin' father. Is that it? Yes. Well, you can't have her--not yet.” “Cyrus,” said Mr. Atkins, “I'm sorry to see that you take it this way. You haven't the shadow of a right. We have the law with us, and your conduct will lead us to invoke it. The constable is outside. Shall I call him in?” “Uncle Bedny” was the town constable and had been since before the war. The purely honorary office was given him each year as a joke. Captain Cy grinned broadly, and even Tad was obliged to smile. “Don't be inhuman, Heman,” urged the captain. “You wouldn't turn me over to be man-handled by Uncle Bedny, would you?” “This is not a humorous affair--” began the congressman, with dignity. But the “bereaved father” had been prospecting on his own hook, and now he peeped into the sitting room. “Here she is!” he shouted. “I see her. Come on, Emmie! Your dad's come for you. Let go of her, you woman! What do you mean by holdin' on to her?”