“Well, I guess if you are his sister you’d better come into the sitting-room and take your things off,” said Mr. Sikes grudgingly. “I’ve heard him speak of some folks of his living over in Hopkinsville.” He led the way into the sitting-room. “Make yourselves to home. I guess maybe Ollie will be down after while, unless he’s gone to bed. He’s all wore out. And I might as well tell you first as last,” he went on pointedly, “he’s occupying the only spare bedroom they’ve got in the house, so I don’t see how I can ask you to stay the night.” Mrs. Gooch paused in the act of unwinding a thick scarf from her neck. She gave Mr. Sikes a “look.” “Are you the undertaker?” she demanded. “The—the _what_? Good gosh, no!” “Well, how do you happen to be running things if you are not? You act as if—” “When did Mary die?” asked Mr. Gooch, throwing his great ulster upon the dining-table. “She ain’t dead,” was all the astonished Mr. Sikes could say. “Not by a long sight.” “Well, of all the—” began Mr. Gooch, compressing his lips. “And we drove nearly eighteen miles through all this dodgasted weather to be a support and a comfort to Ollie Baxter in his trouble. You say she _ain’t_ dead?” “Certainly not. Whatever put that notion in your head?” “We had a telegram along about noon signed by Oliver, saying his wife was not expected to live through the day. All hope had been given up,” said Mrs. Gooch, beginning to cry. “That’s just like the derned fool,” said Mr. Sikes. “He can’t believe his own eyes, he’s so excited. Why, Mary and the baby are both as lively as crickets. I heard—” “The _baby_?” fell simultaneously from the lips of Mr. and Mrs. Gooch. Both mouths remained open. “What baby?” added Mrs. Gooch, spreading her tear-drenched eyes. “Why, her’s and Ollie’s—Say, didn’t you know they had a baby this morning?” “A _baby_?” gasped the lady, incredulously. “But we didn’t know they were expecting one,” said her husband, scowling. “Mighty strange Oliver never even mentioned—” “Are you telling the truth?” demanded Mrs. Gooch. “Or are you just trying to be funny?” Mr. Sikes removed the cigar from his jaws. “It’s nothing to me, ma’am, whether you believe it or not,” said he. Baxter’s brother-in-law allowed his gaze to roam around the room. “Maybe we’re in the wrong house, Ida,” he said. “We haven’t been in Rumley since Oliver set up housekeeping. Like as not, that feller down at the drug store gave us the wrong—” “This is Oliver Baxter’s house,” said Sikes shortly. “He moved in here the day after the wedding, and he ain’t moved out of it since, far as I know.” “And who are you?” inquired Mr. Gooch. “Me? My name is Sikes, Joseph Sikes. I’m Ollie’s best friend, if you want to know. I stood up with him when he was married, and I’ve been standin’ up for him ever since. If you’ve got anything nasty to say about Oliver Baxter, I guess you’d better not say it in my hearin’, Mr. Gooch.”