“We shall see,” she answered, with a smile, but shutting the door between them.

He clinched his fists and muttered, “I’ll figure it all up and take my pay, Missy.  She’s worth it.  I will have to do some crooked things to get her; but by ——­, I’d kill a dozen men and hang another, just to stand by and see her braid her hair.”

Returning to his house, he ran nimbly up the stairs, half fearing to find Sleeny there, but he had not yet arrived.  He seized the hammer, put it in his pocket, and came down again.  Still intent upon accounting for as much of the evening as possible, he thought of a variety-show in the neighborhood, and went there.  He spoke to some of the loafers at the door.  He then walked to the box-office and asked for a ticket, addressing the man who sold it to him as “Jimmy,” and asking how business was.  The man handed him his ticket without any reply, but turned to a friend beside him, and said, “Who is that cheeky brother that knows me so well?”

“Oh! that’s a rounder by the name of Offitt.  He is a sort of Reformer—­ makes speeches to the puddlers on the rights of man.”

“Seems rather fresh,” said Jimmy.

“A little brine wouldn’t hurt him.”

Offitt strolled into the theatre, which was well filled.  The curtain was down at the moment, and he walked the full extent of the centre aisle to the orchestra, looking about him as if in search of some one.  He saw one or two acquaintances and nodded to them.  He then walked back and took a seat near the door.  The curtain rose, and the star of the evening bounded upon the stage,—­a strapping young woman in the dress of an army officer.  She was greeted with applause before she began her song, and with her first notes Offitt quietly went out.  He looked at the clock on the City Hall, and saw that he had no more time to kill.  He walked, without hurrying or loitering, up the shady side of the street till he came to the quarter where Farnham lived.  He then crossed into the wide avenue, and, looking swiftly about him, approached the open gates of Farnham’s place.  Two or three men were coming out, one or two were going in.  He waited till the former had turned down the street, and the latter were on the door-step.  He then walked briskly up the path to the house; but instead of mounting the steps, he turned to the left and lay down under the library windows behind a clump of lilacs.

“If they catch me here,” he thought, “they can only take me for a tramp and give me the grand bounce.”

The windows opened upon a stone platform a few feet from the ground.  He could hear the sound of voices within.  At last he heard the men rise, push back their chairs, and say “Good-night.”  He heard their heavy shoes on the front steps.  “Now for it,” he whispered.  But at that moment a belated tenant came in.  He wanted to talk of some repairs to his house.  Offitt lay down again, resting his head on his arm.  The soft turf, the stillness, the warmth of the summer