It was the man they had been discussing.

"A dirty night, friends, and a cold ride from Plymouth." He shook the
water out of his hat over the sanded floor. "I'll take a pull at
something hot, if you please."

Every one looked at him. Prudy, forgetting what she was about, waved
the hot brand to and fro under Old Zeb's nose, stinging his eyes with
smoke. Between confusion and suffocation, his face was a study.

"You seem astonished, all of you. May I ask why?"

"To tell 'ee the truth, young man," said Prudy, "'twas a case of 'talk
of the devil an' you'll see his horns.'"

"Indeed. You were speaking good of me, I hope."

"Which o' your ears is burning?"

"Both."

"Then it shu'd be the left ear only. Old Zeb, here--"

"Hush 'ee now, Prudy!" implored the crowder.

"--Old Zeb here," continued Prudy, relentlessly, "was only a-sayin', as
you walked in, that he'd read you the Riot Act afore you was many days
older. He's mighty fierce wi' your goin's on, I 'sure 'ee."

"Is that so, Mr. Minards?"