"Are you sure?" asked James Rice, after a painful pause.
"Yes," said Angus, with exaggerated ease, affecting not to notice the
significance of the question. "Jack went to Nelson to-day, and he ain't
back yet. He went about three o'clock," went on Angus, endeavoring to
patch up a shaky story with a little interesting detail. "He took over
a bunch of pigs for me that I am shippin' into Winnipeg, and he was
goin' to bring back some lumber."
"I was in Nelson to-day, Angus," said John Moore, sternly; "just came
from there, and I did not see John Thomas."
Angus, though fallen and misguided, was not entirely unregenerate; a
lie sat awkwardly on his honest lips, and now that his feeble effort at
deception had miscarried, he felt himself adrift on a boundless sea. He
wildly felt around for a reply, and was greatly relieved by the arrival
of his father on the scene, who, seeing the lights of the auto in the
yard, had come out hurriedly to see what was the matter. Grandpa
Kennedy, although nearing his ninetieth birthday, was still a man of
affairs, and what was still more important on this occasion, a lifelong
Conservative. Grandpa knew it was the night before the election; he
also had seen what he had seen. Grandpa might be getting on, but he
could see as far through a cellar door as the next one. Angus, glad of
a chance to escape, went on to the stable, leaving the visiting
gentlemen to be entertained by Grandpa.
Grandpa was a diplomat; he wanted to have no hard feelings with anyone.
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