“For the land sakes, Zoeth,” he begged, “what’s the matter?”

Zoeth waved him to silence.  “Sshh! sshh!” he pleaded in a whisper.  “Don’t holler so; she’ll hear you.  Shadrach, I—­I—­”

“What is it?” broke in his friend.  “What’s the matter, Zoeth?  Shall I fetch the doctor?”

“No, no.  I’m—­I’m all right, Shadrach.  I’ve just had—­had a kind of shock—­a surprise, that’s all.  I ain’t very strong yet and it—­it kind of upset me.  But, Shadrach, I want to talk to you.  I want to tell you somethin’ right away.  I can’t keep it to myself any longer.  Can’t we go home—­to my room or somewheres—­where we can talk?  Please, Shadrach!”

“There, there, shipmate; take it easy.  Go home?  Course we can!  Hey, Sim!” shouting to Mr. Crocker, who was in the back room.  “You and Mary can take care of the store, can’t you?  Zoeth and me are goin’ home for dinner.”

Simeon replied that Mary was not there; she had gone out the back way, down to the house, he thought.  “But you go ahead, Cap’n Shad,” he added.  “I can take care of the store all right.”

At home, and in Mr. Hamilton’s room, the Captain pulled forward the most comfortable chair, forced his partner to sit in it, closed and locked the door, sat down on the edge of the bed, and said: 

“There!  Now we’re all taut and shipshape and nobody can get aboard to interrupt.  Fire away, Zoeth.  What is it you’ve got to tell?”

Zoeth, his hand trembling, reached into the inside pocket of his coat, took out an old-fashioned wallet and from it produced a much-crumpled envelope.

“Shadrach,” he said, “I don’t hardly know how to begin.  It seems so strange to think that you and me, who’ve been so close to each other all these years, should have a secret between us, if only for a little while.  It seems wicked.  I guess ’tis wicked, and I’m the wicked one for keepin’ it from you.”

The Captain laughed.

“You couldn’t be wicked if you was apprenticed to the Old Harry for ten years, Zoeth,” he said.  “You don’t know how to be and the devil himself couldn’t teach you.  Now, don’t waste time tellin’ me I’m speaking lightly of sacred things,” he added.  “For one thing, the Old Scratch ain’t sacred, as I know of, and for another I want to hear that secret.  What is it?”

Zoeth shook his head.  “I am wicked, all the same,” he said, “but I guess I’ve been punished.  There wan’t any real reason why I shouldn’t have told you afore, but somehow I couldn’t make up my mind to speak of it.  I just couldn’t.  But I’m goin’ to tell you now, Shadrach.”

He held up the crumpled envelope.

“You remember when I was took sick?” he said.  “You remember I was struck down all of a heap in the kitchen?  Yes; well, did you ever wonder what it was struck me down?  I’ll tell you.  ’Twas a letter that came to me in the mail that morning.  This was the letter.  I managed to put it in my inside vest pocket that time when Isaiah run off after you and left me lyin’ there.  I didn’t want him to see it.  I didn’t want anybody to—­not then.  Now I want you to read it, Shadrach.  But before you do, let me warn you.  You should ask the Almighty to give you strength.  You’re goin’ to be surprised, Shadrach, surprised and shocked.  Here it is; read it.”