“What do you mean?” asked Offitt.

“I’ve got a quarter’s rent in there for Cap.  Farnham.”

“Why are you carrying it around all day?”

“Well, you know, Farnham is a good sort of fellow, and to keep us from losing time he lets us come to his house in the evening, after working hours, on quarter-day, instead of going to his office in the day-time.  You see, I trot up there after supper and get rid of this wad.”

Offitt’s eyes twinkled like those of an adder.

“How many of you do this?”

“Oh, a good many,—­most everybody in our ward and some in the Nineteenth.”

“A good bit of money?” said Offitt carelessly, though his mouth worked nervously.

“You bet your boots!  If I had all the cash he takes in to-night, I’d buy an island and shoot the machine business.  Well, I must be gettin’ back.  So long.”

Offitt had walked directly home after this conversation, looking neither to the right nor the left, like a man asleep.  He had gone to his room, locked his door behind him, and sat down upon the edge of his bed and given himself up to an eager dream of crime.  His heart beat, now fast, now slow; a cold sweat enveloped him; he felt from time to time half suffocated.

Suddenly he heard a loud knocking at his door—­not as if made by the hand, but as if some one were hammering.  He started and gasped with a choking rattle in his throat.  His eyes seemed straining from their sockets.  He opened his lips, but no sound came forth.

The sharp rapping was repeated, once and again.  He made no answer.  Then a loud voice said: 

“Hello, Andy, you asleep?”

He threw himself back on his pillow and said yawningly, “Yes.  That you, Sam?  Why don’t you come in?”

“’Cause the door’s locked.”

He rose and let Sleeny in; then threw himself back on the bed, stretching and gaping.

“What did you make that infernal racket with?”

“My new hammer,” said Sam.  “I just bought it to day.  Lost my old one the night we give Farnham the shiveree.”

“Lemme see it.”  Offitt took it in his hand and balanced and tested it.  “Pretty good hammer.  Handle’s a leetle thick, but—­pretty good hammer.”

“Ought to be,” said Sam.  “Paid enough for it.”

“Where d’you get it?”

“Ware & Harden’s.”

“Sam,” said Offitt,—­he was still holding the hammer and giving himself light taps on the head with it,—­“Sam.”

“Well, you said that before.”

Offitt opened his mouth twice to speak and shut it again.

“What are you doin’?” asked Sleeny.  “Trying to catch flies?”

“Sam,” said Offitt at last, slowly and with effort, “if I was you, the first thing I did with that hammer, I’d crack Art Farnham’s cocoa-nut.”

“Well, Andy, go and crack it yourself if you are so keen to have it done.  You’re mixing yourself rather too much in my affairs, anyhow,” said Sam, who was nettled by these too frequent suggestions of Offitt that his honor required repair.