“And that,” said Captain Bailey, mollified by the renewed interest of his listeners, “was, 'Bully! I'll do it!'

“So he calls a meetin' of everybody interested, at his new house. About every respectable man in town was there, includin' me. Most of the billiard-room gang was there, likewise. Jotham, of course, wa'n't invited.

“Gabe calls the meetin' to order and the minister makes a speech tellin' about the scheme. 'Our generous and public-spirited citizen, Honorable Atkinson Holway,' had offered to build a suitable clubhouse, fix it up, and donate it to the club, them and their heirs forever, Amen. 'Twas to belong to the members to do what they pleased with—no strings tied to it at all. Dues would be merely nominal, a dollar a year or some such matter. Now, who favored such a club as that?

“Well, 'most everybody did. Daniel Bassett, chronic politician, justice of the peace, and head of the 'Conservatives' at town meetin', he made a talk, and in comes him and his crew. Gaius Ellis, another chronic, who is postmaster and skipper of the 'Progressives,' had been fidgetin' in his seat, and now up he bobs and says he's for it; then every 'Progressive' jines immediate. But the billiard-roomers; they didn't jine. They looked sort of sheepish, and set still. When Mr. Fisher begun to hint p'inted in their direction, they got up and slid outdoor. And right then I'd ought to have smelt trouble, but I didn't; had a cold in my head, I guess likely.

“Next thing was to build the new clubhouse, and Gabe went at it hammer and tongs. He had a big passel of carpenters down from the city, and inside of three months the buildin' was up, and she was a daisy, now I tell you. There was a readin' room and a meetin' room and an 'amusement room.' The amusements was crokinole and parchesi and checkers and the like of that. Also there was a gymnasium and a place where you could play the pianner and sing—till the sufferin' got acute and somebody come along and abated you.

“When I fust went inside that clubhouse I see 'twas bound to be 'Good-by, Bill,' for Jotham. His customers would shake his ratty old shanty for sartin, soon's they see them elegant new rooms. I swan, if I didn't feel sorry for the old reprobate, and, thinks I, I'll drop around and sympathize a little. Sympathy don't cost nothin', and Jotham's pretty good company.

“I found him settin' alongside the peanut roaster, watchin' a couple of patients cruelize the pool table.

“'Hello, Bailey!' says he. 'You surprise me. Ain't you 'fraid of catchin' somethin' in this ha'nt of sin? Have a chair, anyhow. And a cigar, won't you?'

“I took the chair, but I steered off from the cigar, havin' had experience. Told him I guessed I'd use my pipe. He chuckled.

“'Fur be it from me to find fault with your judgment,' he says. 'Terbacker does smoke better'n anything else, don't it.'

“We set there and puffed for five minutes or so. Then he sort of jumped.

“'What's up?' says I.

“'Oh, nothin'!' he says. 'Bije Simmons got a ball in the pocket, that's all. Don't do that too often, Bije; I got a weak heart. Well, Bailey,' he adds, turnin' to me, 'Gabe's club's fixed up pretty fine, ain't it?'

“'Why, yes,' I says; ''tis.'

“'Finest ever I see,' says he. 'I told him so when I was in there.'

“'What?' says I. 'You don't mean to say YOU'VE been in that clubroom?'

“'Sartin. Why not? I want to take in all the shows there is—'specially the free ones. Make a good billiard room, that clubhouse would.'

“I whistled. 'Whew!' says I. 'Didn't tell Gabe THAT, did you?'

“He nodded. 'Yup,' says he. 'I told him.'

“I whistled again. 'What answer did he make?' I asked.

“'Oh, he wa'n't enthusiastic. Seemed to cal'late I'd better shut up my head and my shop along with it, afore he knocked off one and his club knocked out t'other.'

“I pitied the old rascal; I couldn't help it.

“'Jotham,' says I, 'I ain't the wust friend you've got in South Orham, even if I don't play pool much. If I was you I'd clear out of here and start somewheres else. You can't fight all the best folks in town.'

“He didn't make no answer. Just kept on a-puffin'. I got up to go. Then he laid his hand on my sleeve.

“'Bailey,' says he, 'when Betsy Mayo was ailin', her sister's tribe was all for the Faith Cure and her husband's relations was high for patent medicine. When the Faith Curists got to workin', in would come some of the patent mediciners and give 'em the bounce. And when THEY went home for the night, the Faithers would smash all the bottles. Finally they got so busy fightin' 'mong themselves that Betsy see she was gettin' no better fast, and sent for the reg'lar doctor. HE done the curin', and got the pay.'

“'Well,' says I, 'what of it?'

“'Nothin',' says he. 'Only I've been practisin' a considerable spell. So long. Come in again some time when it's dark and the respectable element can't see you.'

“I went away thinkin' hard. And next mornin' I hunted up Gabe, and says I:

“'Mr. Holway,' I says, 'what puzzles me is how you're goin' to elect the officers for the new club. Put up a Conservative and the Progressives resign. H'ist the Progressive ensign and the Conservatives'll mutiny. As for the billiard-roomers—providin' any jine—they've never been known to vote for anybody but themselves. I can't see no light yet—nothin' but fog.'

“He winks, sly and profound. 'That's all right,' says he. 'Fisher and I have planned that. You watch!'

“Sure enough, they had. The minister was mighty popular, so, when 'twas out that he was candidate to be fust president of the club, all hands was satisfied. Two vice presidents was named—one bein' Bassett and t'other Ellis. Secretary was a leadin' Conservative; treasurer a head Progressive. Officers and crew was happy and mutiny sunk ten fathoms. ONLY none of the billiard-room gang had jined, and they was the fish we was really tryin' for.

“'Twas next March afore one of 'em did come into the net, though we'd have on all kinds of bait—suppers and free ice cream Saturday nights, and the like of that. And meantime things had been happenin'.

“The fust thing of importance was Gabe's leavin' town. Our Cape winter weather was what fixed him. He stood the no'theasters and Scotch drizzles till January, and then he heads for Key West and comfort. Said his heart still beat warm for his native village, but his feet was froze—or words similar. He cal'lated to be back in the spring. Then the Reverend Fisher got a call to somewheres in York State, and felt he couldn't afford not to hear it. Nobody blamed him; the salary paid a minister in South Orham is enough to make any feller buy patent ear drums. But that left our men's club without either skipper or pilot, as you might say.

“One week after the farewell sermon, Daniel Bassett drops in casual on me. He was passin' around smoking material lavish and regardless.

“'Stitt,' says he, 'you've always voted for Conservatism in our local affairs, haven't you?'

“'Well,' says I, 'I didn't vote to roof the town hall with a new mortgage, if that's what you mean.'

“'Exactly,' he says. 'Now, our men's club, while not as yet the success we hoped for, has come to be a power for good in our community. It needs for its president a conservative, thoughtful man. Bailey,' he says, 'it has come to my ears that Gaius Ellis intends to run for that office. You know him. As a taxpayer, as a sober, thoughtful citizen, my gorge rises at such insolence. I protest, sir! I protest against—'

“He was standin' up, makin' gestures with both arms, and he had his town-meetin' voice iled and runnin'. I was too busy to hanker for a stump speech, so I cut across his bows.

“'All right, all right,' says I. 'I'll vote for you, Dan.'

“He fetched a long breath. 'Thank you,' says he. 'Thank you. That makes ten. Ellis can count on no more than nine. My election is assured.'

“Seein' that there wa'n't but nineteen reg'lar voters who come to the club meetin's, if Bassett had ten of 'em it sartin did look as if he'd get in. But on election night what does Gaius Ellis do but send a wagon after old man Solomon Peavey, who'd been dry docked with rheumatiz for three months, and Sol's vote evened her up. 'Twas ten to ten, a deadlock, and the election was postponed for another week.

“This was of a Tuesday. On Wednesday I met Bije Simmons, the chap who was playin' pool at Jotham's.

“'Hey, Bailey!' says he. 'Shake hands with a brother. I'm goin' to jine the men's club.'

“'You BE?' says I, surprised enough, for Simmons was a billiard-roomer from 'way back.

“'Yup,' he says. 'I'll be voted in at next meetin', sure. I'm studyin' up on parchesi now.'

“'Hum!' I says, thinkin'. 'How you goin to vote?'

“'Me?' says he. 'Me? Why, man, I wonder at you! Can't you see the fires of Conservatism blazin' in my eyes? I'm Conservative bred and Conservative born, and when I'm dead there'll be a Conservative gone. By, by. See you Tuesday night.'

“He went off, stoppin' everybody he met to tell 'em the news. And on Thursday Ed Barnes dropped in to pay me the seventy-five cents he'd borrowed two years ago come Fourth of July. When I'd got over the fust shock and had counted the money three times, I commenced to ask questions.

“'Somebody die and will you a million, Ed?' I wanted to know.

“'No,' says he. 'It's the reward of virtue. I'm goin' to be a better man. I'm jinin' the men's club.'

“'NO!' says I, for Ed was as strong a billiard-roomer as Bije.

“'Sure!' he answers. 'I'm filled full of desires for crokinole and progressiveness. See you Tuesday night at the meetin'.'

“And, would you b'lieve it, at that meetin' no less'n six confirmed members of the billiard-room gang was voted into the men's club. 'Twas a hallelujah gatherin'. I couldn't help thinkin' how glad and proud Gabe and Mr. Fisher would have been to see their dreams comin' true. But Bassett and Ellis looked more worried than glad, and when the votin' took place I understood the reason. Them new members had divided even, and the ballots stood Bassett thirteen and Ellis thirteen. The tie was still on and the election was put off for another week.

“In that week, surprisin' as it may seem, two more billiard-roomers seen a light and jined with us. However, one was for Bassett and t'other for Ellis, so the deadlock wa'n't broken. Jotham had only a couple of his reg'lars left, and I swan to man if THEY didn't catch the disease inside of the follerin' fortni't and hand in their names. The 'Billiard, Pool, and Sipio Saloon,' from bein' the liveliest place in town, was now the deadest. Through the window you could see poor Jotham mopin' lonesome among his peanuts and cigars. The sayin' concernin' the hardness of the transgressor's sleddin' was workin' out for HIM, all right. But the conversions had come so sudden that I couldn't understand it, though I did have some suspicions.

“'Look here, Dan,' says I to Bassett, 'are you goin' to keep this up till judgment? There ain't but thirty votin' names in this place—except the chaps off fishin', and they won't be back till fall. Fifteen is for you and fifteen for Gaius. Most astonishin' agreement of difference ever I see. We'll never have a president, at this rate.'

“He winked. 'Won't, hey?' he says. 'Sure you've counted right? I make it thirty-one.'

“'I don't see how,' says I, puzzled. 'Nobody's left outside the club but Jotham himself, and he—'

“'That's all right,' he interrupts, winkin' again. 'You be on hand next Tuesday night. You can't always tell, maybe somethin'll happen.'

“I was on hand, all right, and somethin' did happen, two somethin's, in fact. We hadn't much more'n got in our seats afore the door opened, and in walked Gaius Ellis, arm in arm with a man; and the man was the Honorable Stingy Gabe Atkinson Holway.

“'Gentlemen,' sings out Gaius, bubblin' over with joy, 'I propose three cheers for our founder, who has returned to us after his long absence.'

“We give the cheers—that is, some of the folks did. Bassett and our gang wa'n't cheerin' much; they looked as if somebody had passed 'em a counterfeit note. You see, Gabe Holway was one of the hide-boundest Progressives afloat, and a blind man could see who'd got him back again and which way he'd vote. It sartinly looked bad for Bassett now.

“Gaius proposes that, out of compliment, as founder of the club, Mr. Holway be asked to preside. So he was asked, though the Conservatives wa'n't very enthusiastic. Gabe took the chair, preached a little sermon about bein' glad to see his native home once more, and raps for order.

“'If there's no other business afore the meetin',' says he, 'we will proceed to ballot for president.'

“But it turned out that there was other business. Dan Bassett riz to his feet and commenced one of the most feelin' addresses ever I listened to.

“Fust he congratulated all hands upon the success of Mr. Holway's philanthropic scheme for the betterment of South Orham's male citizens. Jeered at at fust by the unregenerate, it had gone on, winnin' its way into the hearts of the people, until one by one the said unregenerate had regenerated, and now the club numbered thirty souls and the Honorable Atkinson.

“'But,' says Dan, wavin' his arms, 'one man yet remains outside. One lone man! The chief sinner, you say? Yes, I admit it. But, gentlemen, a repentant sinner. Alone he sits amid the wreck of his business—a business wrecked by us, gentlemen—without a customer, without a friend. Shall it be said that the free and open-handed men's club of South Orham turned its back upon one man, merely because he HAS been what he was? Gentlemen, I have talked with Jotham Gale; he is old, he is friendless, he no longer has a means of livelihood—we have taken it from him. We have turned his followers' steps to better paths. Shall we not turn his, also? Gentlemen and friends, Jotham Gale is repentant, he feels his ostrichism'—whatever he meant by that—'he desires to become self-respecting, and he asks us to help him. He wishes to join this club. Gentlemen, I propose for membership in our association the name of Jotham W. Gale.'

“He set down and mopped his face. And the powwow that broke loose was somethin' tremendous. Of course 'twas plain enough what Dan's game was. This was the 'somethin'' that was goin' to happen.

“Ellis see the way the land lay, and he bounces up to protest. 'Twas an outrage; a scandal; ridiculous; and so forth, and so on. Poor Gabe didn't know what to do, and so he didn't do nothin'. A head Conservative seconds Jotham's nomination. 'Twas put to a vote and carried easy. Dan's speech had had its effect and a good many folks voted out of sympathy. How did I vote? I'LL never tell you.

“And then Bassett gets up, smilin', goes to the outside door, opens it, and leads in the new member. He'd been waitin' on the steps, it turned out. Jotham looked mighty quiet and meek. I pitied the poor old codger more'n ever. Snaked in, he was, out of the wet, like a yeller dog, by the club that had kicked him out of his own shop.

“Chairman Gabe pounds for order, and suggests that the votin' can go on. But Ellis jumps up, and says he:

“'What's the sense of votin' now?' he asks sarcastic. 'Will the lost lamb we've just yanked into the fold have the face to stand up and bleat that he hasn't promised to vote Conservative? Dan Bassett, of all the contemptible tricks that ever—'

“Bassett's face was redder'n a ripe tomatter. He shakes his fist in Gaius's face and yells opinions and comments.

“'Don't you talk to me about tricks, you ward-heeler!' he hollers. 'Why did you fetch Mr. Holway back home? Why did you, hey? That was the trickiest trick that I—'

“Gabe pretty nigh broke his mallet thumpin'.

“'Gentlemen! gentlemen!' says he. 'This is most unseemly. Sit down, if you PLEASE. Mr. Ellis, when the purpose of this association is considered, it seems to me very wrong to find fault because the chief of our former antagonists has seen the error of his ways and become one of us. Mr. Bassett, I do not understand your intimation concernin' myself. I shall adjourn this meetin' until next Friday evenin', gentlemen. Meanwhile, let us remember that we ARE gentlemen.'

“He thumped the desk once, and parades out of the buildin', dignified as Julius Caesar. The rest of us toddled along after him, all talkin' at once. Bassett and Ellis glowered at each other and hove out hints about what would happen afore they got through. 'Twas half-past ten afore I got to bed that night, and Sarah J.—that's Mrs. Stitt—kept me awake another hour explainin' whys and wherefores.

“For the next three days nobody done anything but knock off work and talk club politics. You'd see 'em on the corners and in the post office and camped on the meetin'-house steps, arguin' and jawin'. Dan and Gaius was hurryin' around, moppin' their foreheads and lookin' worried. On Thursday there was all sorts of rumors afloat. Finally they all simmered down to one, and that one was what made me stop Stingy Gabe on the street and ask for my bearin's.

“'Mr. Holway,' says I, 'is it true that Dan and Gaius have resigned and agreed to vote for somebody else?'

“He nodded, grand and complacent.

“'Then who's the somebody?' says I. 'For the land sakes! tell me. It's as big a miracle as the prodigal son.'

“I remember now that the prodigal son ain't a miracle, but I was excited then.

“'Stitt,' says he, 'I am the “somebody,” as you call it. I have decided to let my own wishes and inclinations count for nothin' in this affair, and to accept the office of president myself. It will be announced at the meetin'.'

“I whistled. 'By gum!' says I. 'You've got a great head, Mr. Holway, and I give you public credit for it. It's the only course that ain't full of breakers. Did you think of it yourself?'

“He colored up a little. 'Why, no, not exactly,' he says. 'The fact is, the credit belongs to our new member, Mr. Gale.'

“'To JOTHAM?' says I, astonished.

“'Yes. He suggested my candidacy, as a compromise. Said that he, for one, would be proud to vote for me. Mr. Gale seems thoroughly repentant, a changed man. I am counting on him for great things in the future.'

“So the fuss seemed settled, thanks to the last person on earth you'd expect would be peacemaker. But that afternoon I met Darius Tompkins, Bassett's right-hand man.

“'Bailey,' says he, 'you're a Conservative, ain't you? You're for Dan through thick and thin?'

“'Why!' says I, 'I understand Dan and Gaius are both out of it now, and it's settled on Holway. Dan's promised to vote for him.'

“'HE has,' says Tompkins, with a wink, 'but the rest of us ain't. We pledged our votes to Dan Bassett, and we ain't the kind to go back on our word. Dan himself'll vote for Gabe; so'll Gaius and his reg'lar tribe. That'll make twelve, countin' Holway's own.'

“'Make seventeen, you mean,' says I. 'Gaius and his crowd's fifteen and Dan's sixteen and Gabe's seven—'

“He winked again, and interrupted me. 'You're countin' wrong, my boy,' says he. 'Five of Gaius's folks come from the old billiard-room gang. Just suppose somethin' happened to make that five vote, on the quiet, for Bassett. Then—'

“A customer come in then, and Tompkins had to leave; but afore he went he got me to one side and whispers:

“'Keep mum, old man, and vote straight for Dan. We'll show old Holway that we can't be led around by the nose.'

“'Tompkins,' says I, 'I know your head well enough to be sartin that it didn't work this out by itself. And why are you so sure of the billiard roomers? Who put you up to this?'

“He rapped the side of his nose. 'The smartest politician in this town,' says he, 'and the oldest—J. W. Gale, Esq.! S-s-sh-h! Don't say nothin'.'

“I didn't say nothin'. I was past talk. And that evenin' as I went past the billiard room on my way home, who should come out of it but Gaius Ellis, and HE looked as happy as Tompkins had.

“Friday night that clubroom was filled. Every member was there, and most of 'em had fetched their wives and families along to see the fun. There was whisperin' and secrecy everywheres. Honorable Gabe took the chair and makes announcements that the shebang is open for business.

“Up gets Dave Bassett and all but sheds tears. He says that he made up his mind to vote, not for himself, but for the founder and patron of the club, the Honorable Atkinson Holway. He spread it over Gabe thick as sugar on a youngster's cake. And when he set down all hands applauded like fury. But I noticed that he hadn't spoke for nary Conservative but himself.

“Then Gaius Ellis rises and sobs similar. He's stopped votin' for himself, too. His ballot is for that grand and good man, Gabriel Atkinson Holway, Esq. More applause and hurrahs.

“And then who should get up but Jotham Gale. He talks humble, like a has-been that knows he's a back number, but he says it's his privilege to cast his fust vote in that club for Mr. Holway, South Orham's pride. Nobody was expectin' him to say anything, and the cheers pretty nigh broke the winders.

“Gabe was turrible affected by the soft soap, you could see that. He fairly sobbed as he sprinkled gratitude and acceptances. When the agony was over, he says the votin' can begin.

“I cal'lated he expected somebody'd move to make it unanimous, but they didn't. So the blank ballots was handed around, and the pencils got busy. Gabe app'ints three tellers, Bassett and Ellis, of course, for two—and the third, Jotham Gale.

“'As a compliment to our newest member,' says the chairman, smilin' philanthropic.

“When the votes was in the hat, the tellers retired to the amusement room to count up. It took a long time. I see the Conservatives and Progressives nudgin' each other and winkin' back and forth. Five minutes, then ten, then fifteen.

“And all of a sudden the biggest row bu'st loose in that amusement room that ever you heard. Rattlety—bang! Biff! Smash! The door flew open, and in rolled Bassett and Ellis, all legs and arms. Gabe and some of the rest hauled 'em apart and held 'em so, but the language them two hove at each other was enough to bring down a judgment.

“'Gentlemen! gentlemen!' hollers poor Gabe. 'What in the world? I am astounded! I—'

“'You miserable traitor!' shrieks Gaius, wavin' a fist at Dan.

“'You low-down hound!' whoops Dan back at him.

“'Silence!' bellers Gabe, poundin' thunder storms on the desk. 'Will some one explain why these maniacs are—Ah, Mr. Gale—thank goodness, YOU at least are sane!'

“Jotham walks to the front of the platform. He was holdin' the hat and a slip of paper with the result set down on it.

“'Ladies and feller members,' says he, 'there's been some surprisin' votin' done in this election. Things ain't gone as we cal'lated they would, somehow. Mr. Holway, your election wa'n't unanimous, after all.'

“The way he said it made most everybody think Gabe was elected, anyhow, and I guess Holway thought so himself, for he smiled forgivin' and says:

“'Never mind, Mr. Gale,' says he. 'A unanimous vote was perhaps too much to expect. Go on.'

“'Yes,' says Jotham. 'Well, here's the way it stands. I'll read it to you.'

“He fixes his specs and reads like this:

“'Number of votes cast, 32.'

“'Honorable Atkinson Holway has 4.'

“'WHAT?' gasps Stingy Gabe, fallin' into his chair.

“'Yes, sir,' says Jotham. 'It's a shame, I know, but it looks as nobody voted for you, Mr. Holway, but yourself and me and Dan and Gaius. To proceed:

“'Daniel Bassett has 9.'

“The Conservatives and their women folks fairly groaned out loud. Tompkins jumped to his feet, but Jotham held up a hand.

“'Just a moment, D'rius,' he says. 'I ain't through yet.'

“'Gaius Ellis has 9.'

“Then 'twas the Progressives' turn to groan. The racket and hubbub was gettin' louder all the time.

“'There's ten votes left,' goes on Jotham, 'and they bear the name of Jotham W. Gale. I can't understand it, but it does appear that I'm elected president of this 'ere club. Gentlemen, I thank you for the honor, which is as great as 'tis unexpected.'

“Gabe and the Progressives and the Conservatives set and looked at each other. And up jumps 'Bije Simmons, and calls for three cheers for the new president.

“Nobody jined in them cheers but the old billiard room gang; they did, though, every one of 'em, and Jotham smiled fatherly down on his flock.

“I s'pose there ain't no need of explainin'. Jotham had worked it all, from the very fust. When the tie business begun and Gaius and Dan was bribin' the billiard roomers to jine the club, 'twas him that fixed how they should vote so's to keep the deadlock goin'. 'Twas him that put Bassett up to proposin' him as a member. 'Twas him that suggested Gabe's comin' back to Gaius. 'Twas him that—But what's the use? 'Twas him all along. He was IT.

“That night everybody but the billiard-room gang sent in their resignation to that club. We refused to be bossed by such people. Gabe resigned, too. He was disgusted with East Harniss and all hands in it. He'd have took back the clubhouse, but he couldn't, as the deed of gift was free and clear. But he swore he'd never give it another cent.

“Folks thought that would end the thing, because it wouldn't be self-supportin', but Jotham had different idees. He simply moved his pool tables and truck up from the old shop, and now he's got the finest place of the kind on the Cape, rent free.

“'I told you 'twould make a good billiard saloon, didn't I, Bailey?' he says, chucklin'.

“'Jotham,' says I, 'of your kind you're a perfect wonder.'

“'Well,' says he, 'I diagnosed that men's club as sufferin' from acute politics. I've been doctorin' that disease for a long time. The trouble with you reformers,' he adds, solemn, 'is that, when it comes to political doin's, you ain't practical.'

“As for Stingy Gabe, he shut up his fine house and moved to New York. Said he was through with helpin' the moral tone.

“'When I die,' he says to me, 'if I go to the bad place I may start in reformin' that. It don't need it no more'n South Orham does, but 'twill be enough sight easier job.'

“And,” concluded Captain Stitt, as soon as he could be heard above the “Haw! haws!” caused by the Honorable Holway's final summing-up of his native town, “I ain't so sure that he was greatly mistook. What do you think, Sol?”

The depot master shook his head. “Don't know, Bailey,” he answered, dryly. “I'll have to visit both places 'fore I give an opinion. I HAVE been to South Orham, but the neighborhood that your friend Gabe compared it to I ain't seen—yet. I put on that 'yet,'” he added, with a wink, “'cause I knew Sim Phinney would if I didn't.”

Captain Bailey rose and covered a yawn with a plump hand.

“I believe I'll go over to Obed's and turn in,” he said. “I'm sleepy as a minister's horse tonight. You don't mind, do you, Obed?”

“No-o,” replied Mr. Gott, slowly. “No, I don't, 'special. I kind of thought I'd run into the club a few minutes and see some of the other fellers. But it ain't important—not very.”

The “club” was one of the rooms over Mr. Higgins's store and post office. It had been recently fitted up with chairs and tables from its members' garrets and, when the depot and store were closed, was a favorite gathering place of those reckless ones who cared to “set up late”—that is, until eleven o'clock. Most of the men in town belonged, but many, Captain Berry among them, visited the room but seldom.

“Checkers,” said the depot master, referring to the “club's” favorite game, “is too deliberately excitin' for me. To watch Beriah Higgins and Ezra Weeks fightin' out a game of checkers is like gettin' your feet froze in January and waitin' for spring to come and thaw 'em out. It's a numbin' kind of dissipation.”

But Obed Gott was a regular attendant at the “club,” and to-night he had a particular reason for wishing to be there. His cousin noticed his hesitation and made haste to relieve his mind.

“That's all right, Obed,” he said, “go to the club, by all means. I ain't such a stranger at your house that I can't find my way to bed without help. Good-night, Sim. Good-night, Issy. Cheer up; maybe the Major's glassware IS priceless. So long, Cap'n Sol. See you again some time tomorrer.”

He and Mr. Gott departed. The depot master rose from his chair. “Issy,” he commanded, “shut up shop.”

Issy obeyed, closing the windows and locking the front door. Captain Sol himself locked the ticket case and put the cash till into the small safe.

“That'll do, Is,” said the Captain. “Good-night. Don't worry too much over the Major's glass. I'll talk with him, myself. You dream about pleasanter things—your girl, if you've got one.”

That was a chance shot, but it struck Issy in the heart. Even during his melancholy progress to and from Major Hardee's, the vision of Gertie Higgins had danced before his greenish-blue eyes. His freckles were engulfed in a surge of blushes as, with a stammered “Night, Cap'n Berry,” he hurried out into the moonlight.

The depot master blew out the lamps. “Come on, Sim,” he said, briefly. “Goin' to walk up with me, or was YOU goin' to the club?”

“Cal'late I'll trot along with you, if you don't mind. I'd just as soon get home early and wrastle with the figures on that Williams movin' job.”

They left the depot, locked and dark, passed the “general store,” where Mr. Higgins was putting out his lights prior to adjournment to the “club” overhead, walked up Main Street to Cross Street, turned and began climbing the hill. Simeon spoke several times but his friend did not answer. A sudden change had come over him. The good spirits with which he told of his adventure with Williams and which had remained during Phinney's stay at the depot, were gone, apparently. His face, in the moonlight, was grave and he strode on, his hands in his pockets.

At the crest of the hill he stopped.

“Good-night, Sim,” he said, shortly, and, turning, walked off.

The building mover gazed after him in surprise. The nearest way to the Berry home was straight down Cross Street, on the other side of the hill, to the Shore Road, and thence along that road for an eighth of a mile. The Captain's usual course was just that. But to-night he had taken the long route, the Hill Boulevard, which made a wide curve before it descended to the road below.

Sim, who had had a shrewd suspicion concerning his friend's silence and evident mental disturbance, stood still, looking and wondering. Olive Edwards, Captain Berry's old sweetheart, lived on the Boulevard. She was in trouble and the Captain knew it. He had asked, that very evening, what she was going to do when forced to move. Phinney could not tell him. Had he gone to find out for himself? Was the mountain at last coming to Mohammed?

For some minutes Simeon remained where he was, thinking and surmising. Then he, too, turned and walked cautiously up the Boulevard. He passed the Williams mansion, its library windows ablaze. He passed the twenty-five room “cottage” of the gentleman from Chicago. Then he halted. Opposite him was the little Edwards dwelling and shop. The curtains were up and there was a lamp burning on the small counter. Beside the lamp, in a rocking chair, sat Olive Edwards, the widow, sewing. As he gazed she dropped the sewing in her lap, and raised her head.

Phinney saw how worn and sad she looked. And yet, how young, considering her forty years and all she had endured and must endure. She put her hand over her eyes, then removed it wearily. A lump came in Simeon's throat. If he might only help her; if SOME ONE might help her in her lonely misery.

And then, from where he stood in the shadow of the Chicago gentleman's hedge, he saw a figure step from the shadows fifty feet farther on. It was Captain Solomon Berry. He walked to the middle of the road and halted, looking in at Olive. Phinney's heart gave a jump. Was the Captain going into that house, going to HER, after all these years? WAS the mountain—

But no. For a full minute the depot master stood, looking in at the woman by the lamp. Then he jammed his hands into his pockets, wheeled, and tramped rapidly off toward his home. Simeon Phinney went home, also, but it was with a heavy heart that he sat down to figure the cost of moving the Williams “pure Colonial” to its destined location.