as much as possible behind a clothes-tree standing near the door.  That the captain had entirely forgotten him was evident, and for the present moment that gentleman was too angry to care or even notice if a dozen men stood at the door.  As he was talking all this time, or rather jerking out sharp sentences, as men do when in a towering rage, Sweetwater was glad to be left unnoticed, for much can be gathered from scattered sentences, especially when a man is in too reckless a frame of mind to weigh them.  He, therefore, made but little movement and listened; and these are some of the ejaculations and scraps of talk he heard: 

“The old purse-proud fool!  Honoured by my friendship, but not ready to accept me as his daughter’s suitor!  As if I would lounge away hours that mean dollars to me in his stiff old drawing-room, just to hear his everlasting drone about stocks up and stocks down, and politics gone all wrong.  He has heard that I play cards, and—­How pretty she looked!  I believe I half like that girl, and when I think she has a million in her own right—­Damn it, if I cannot win her openly and with papa’s consent, I will carry her off with only her own.  She’s worth the effort, doubly worth it, and when I have her and her money—­Eh!  Who are you?”

He had seen Sweetwater at last, which was not strange, seeing that he had turned his way, and was within two feet of him.

“What are you doing here, and who let you in?  Get out, or—­”

“A message, Captain Wattles!  A message from New Bedford.  You have forgotten, sir; you bade me follow you.”

It was curious to see the menace slowly die out of the face of this flushed and angry man as he met Sweetwater’s calm eye and unabashed front, and noticed, as he had not done at first, the slip of paper which the latter resolutely held out.

“New Bedford; ah, from Campbell, I take it.  Let me see!” And the hand which had shook with rage now trembled with a very different sort of emotion as he took the slip, cast his eyes over it, and then looked back at Sweetwater.

Now, Sweetwater knew the two words written on that paper.  He could see out of the back of his head at times, and he had been able to make out these words when the man in New Bedford was writing them.

“Happenings; Afghanistan,” with the figures 2000 after the latter.

Not much sense in them singly or in conjunction, but the captain, muttering them over to himself, consulted a little book which he took from his breast pocket and found, or seemed to, a clew to their meaning.  It could only have been a partial one, however, for in another instant he turned on Sweetwater with a sour look and a thundering oath.

“Is this all?” he shouted.  “Does he call this a complete message?”

“There is another word,” returned Sweetwater, “which he bade me give you by word of mouth; but that word don’t go for nothing.  It’s worth just twenty-five dollars.  I’ve earned it, sir.  I came up from New Bedford on purpose to deliver it to you.”