The slamming of the kitchen door irritated Mr. Sikes. His brow grew dark. This was no time to be slamming doors. He strode over to investigate. If the offender should happen to be Maggie Smith, Baxter’s hired girl, she’d hear from him. What business had she to be away from the house for more than an hour, just at supper time, and probably catching cold or— CHAPTER II HIS RELATIVES AND HIS NEIGHBORS He opened the door and was confronted by a pair of total strangers—a man and a woman, bundled up to the ears and tracking snow all over the kitchen floor. A tall man with short black whiskers and a frail little woman with red, wind-smitten cheeks and a nose from which depended a globular bit of moisture. Mr. Sikes stared at the couple and they stared at him. “I’ve been knocking at the front door for ten minutes,” said the man, thickly. “So we finally had to come to the kitchen door,” added the woman, eyeing Mr. Sikes accusingly. “Isn’t there anybody here to answer the front door?” demanded her companion. “I don’t seem to recollect locking it,” said Mr. Sikes, stiffening perceptibly. He did not like the tone or the manner of these strangers. “There wasn’t anything to stop you from turning the knob, was there, and walkin’ right in—same as you did out here?” “We are not in the habit of walking into people’s houses like that,” said the black-whiskered man, somewhat tartly. “Come on, Ida; let’s go into the sitting-room.” “Just a second,” interposed Mr. Sikes. “I’m sort of in charge here and I guess I’ll have to ask who you are.” “I am Oliver Baxter’s sister,” said the red-nosed woman, “and this is my husband, Mr. Gooch. We drove all the way over here to take charge of things for my brother during his—” “Seems to me I smell rubber burning,” broke in Mr. Gooch, sniffing vigorously. His eye fell upon the cigar that Mr. Sikes was holding between his thumb and forefinger. Mr. Sikes took umbrage. He stepped forward and held the cigar close to Mr. Gooch’s nose. “Smell it,” he said, as the other jerked his head back in surprise. “That’s as good a cigar as you can get anywhere on earth for ten cents—and it only costs five.” “I—I am not a smoker,” Mr. Gooch made haste to explain, being a trifle overcome by Joseph’s far from ingratiating manner. “Well, I’m just telling you,” announced Joseph, inserting the cigar between his back teeth with a somewhat challenging abruptness. “You say you’re Ollie’s relations?” “Yes; I am his sister. I want to see him at once. Where is he?”