“Well, Gabe,” he observed, “if you must, you must, I suppose.  Seems to me you’re leavin’ at the most interestin’ time.  We’ve been talkin’ about this and that, same as you say, and now you’re leavin’ just as ‘this’ has got here.  Maybe if you wait—­wait—­a—­”

The sentence died away into nothingness.  He had taken up the brush which he used for the blue paint.  There was a loose bristle in it.  He pulled this out and one or two more came with it.

“Hu-um!” he mused, absently.

Captain Sam was tired of waiting.

“Come, finish her out, Jed—­finish her out,” he urged.  “What’s the rest of it?”

“I cal’late I’ll run along now,” said Mr. Bearse, nervously moving toward the door.

“Hold on a minute,” commanded the captain.  “Jed hadn’t finished what he was sayin’ to you.  He generally talks like one of those continued-in-our-next yarns in the magazines.  Give us the September installment, Jed—­come.”

Mr. Winslow smiled, a slow, whimsical smile that lit up his lean, brown face and then passed away as slowly as it had come, lingering for an instant at one corner of his mouth.

“Oh, I was just tellin’ Gabe that the ‘this’ he was talkin’ about was here now,” he said, “and that maybe if he waited a space the ‘that’ would come, too.  Seems to me if I was you, Gabe, I’d—­”

But Mr. Bearse had gone.

Captain Hunniwell snorted.  “Humph!” he said; “I judge likely I’m the ‘this’ you and that gas bag have been talkin’ about.  Who’s the ’that’?”

His companion was gazing absently at the door through which Gabriel had made his hurried departure.  After gazing at it in silence for a moment, he rose from the chair, unfolding section by section like a pocket rule, and, crossing the room, opened the door and took from its other side the lettered sign “Private” which had hung there.  Then, with tacks and a hammer, he proceeded to affix the placard to the inner side of the door, that facing the room where he and Captain Sam were.  The captain regarded this operation with huge astonishment.

“Gracious king!” he exclaimed.  “What in thunder are you doin’ that for?  This is the private room in here, ain’t it?”

Mr. Winslow, returning to his chair, nodded.

“Ya-as,” he admitted, “that’s why I’m puttin’ the ‘Private’ sign on this side of the door.”

“Yes, but—­ Why, confound it, anybody who sees it there will think it is the other room that’s private, won’t they?”

Jed nodded.  “I’m in hopes they will,” he said.

“You’re in hopes they will!  Why?”

“’Cause if Gabe Bearse thinks that room’s private and that he don’t belong there he’ll be sartin sure to go there; then maybe he’ll give me a rest.”

He selected a new brush and went on with his painting.  Captain Hunniwell laughed heartily.  Then, all at once, his laughter ceased and his face assumed a troubled expression.