Mr. Wright was declaiming sonorously: "--Did you ever see the Devil,

With his wooden leg and shovel,

A-scratching up the gravel--"

He paused to stick a cuttlefish between the bars of a cage, and

catching sight of the first figure, instantly began to snarl a

reproach: "I might have been in my grave for all you know, Edward Lavendar;

except you'd have had to 'give hearty thanks for the good example' of

the deceased. What a humbug the burial service is--hey? Same thing for

an innocent like me, or for a senior warden. Come in. Simmons!

Whiskey"-He stopped short; William had moved in the shadows. "Why, that's Willy

King," he said; and dropped the cuttlefish. "Something's wrong. Two

black coats at this hour of the day mean something. Well! Out with it!

What's happened?"

"Benjamin," said Dr, Lavendar, coming into the room, "Sam's Sam--"

"Keep Willy King out!" commanded the very old man in a high, peevish

voice. "I'm not going to die of it. He's--killed himself? Well; it's

my fault. I angered him," He took up his hat, clutching the brim with

shaking hands and pulling it fiercely down over his eyes. "Keep Willy

off! I'm not--I'm not--"

Simmons caught him as he lurched back into a chair, and Dr. Lavendar

bent over him, his old face moving with tears.

"It was an accident, Benjamin, either of the body or the soul--it

doesn't matter which."

William King, standing behind the chair that held the forlorn and

quivering heap, ventured gently: "Samuel says that Sam was cleaning

his pistol, and--"

But Dr. Lavendar held up his hand and William was silent.

"Hold your tongue;" said Benjamin Wright. "Lavendar knows I don't like

lies. Yes; my fault. I've done it again. Second time. Second time.

Simmons! Get these--gentlemen some--whiskey."

Simmons, his yellow jaws mumbling with terror, looked at Dr. Lavendar,

who nodded. But even as the old man got himself together, the brain

flagged; William saw the twist come across the mouth, and the eyes

blink and fix.

It was not a very severe shock, and after the first moments of alarm,

the doctor said quietly; "He is not dying."

But he was, of course, perfectly helpless and silenced; his miserable

eyes seemed to watch them, fixedly, as they carried him to his bed,

and did what little could be done; but he could make no demand, and

offer no explanation.

It was not until late in the afternoon that William King had time to

go to the Stuffed Animal House. He had had a gravely absorbing day;

not only because of the Wrights' pitiful demands upon his time, but

because of the necessary explanations and evasions to Old Chester. To

his wife evasions were impossible, he gave her an exact statement of

the facts as he knew them. Martha, listening, and wiping her eyes, was

shocked into fairness and sympathy.




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