is
chair. "Done?" he cried; "what do you mean by that? Who said I'd done
anything? It's a lie."

"What is a lie?"

"Why--why--er--whatever they said!"

"Who said?"

"Why, the ones that--that said what you said they said."

"I didn't say anyone had said anything."

"Then what do you mean by--by hintin'? Hey? What do you mean by it?"

He brandished a clenched fist over the breakfast dishes. Brown leaned
back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Call me when the patient recovers his senses," he drawled wearily.
"This delirium is painful to a sensitive nature."

Atkins's fist wavered in mid-air, opened, and was drawn across its
owner's forehead.

"Well, by jiminy!" exclaimed the lightkeeper with emphasis, "this
is--is-- . . . I guess I BE crazy. If I ain't, you are. Would you mind
tellin' me what in time you mean by THAT?"

"It is not the mosquitoes," continued his companion, in apparent
soliloquy; "there are no mosquitoes at present. It must be the other
thing, of course. But so early in the morning, and so violent. Alcohol
is--"

"SHUT UP!" It was not a request, but an order. Brown opened his eyes.

"You were addressing me?" he asked, blandly. "Yes?"

"Addressin' you! For thunder sakes, who else would I be ad-- . . .
There! there! Now I cal'late you're hintin' that I'm drunk. I ain't."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, indeed. And I ain't out of my head--not yet; though keepin'
company with a Bedlamite may have some effect, I shouldn't wonder. Mr.
John Brown--if that's your name, which I doubt--you listen to me."

"Very well, Mr. Seth Atkins--if that is your name, which I neither doubt
nor believe, not being particularly interested--I'm listening. Proceed."

"You told me last night that you wanted the job of assistant keeper here
at these lights. Course you didn't mean it."

"I did."

"You DID! . . . Well, YOU must be drunk or loony."

"I'm neither. And I meant it. I want the job."

Seth looked at him, and he looked at Seth. At length the lightkeeper
spoke again.

"Well," he said, slowly, "I don't understand it at all, but never mind.
Whatever happens, we've got to understand each other. Mind I don't say
the job's yours, even if we do; but we can't even think of it unless we
understand each other plain. To begin with, I want to tell you that I
ain't done nothin' that's crooked, nor wicked, nor nothin' but what I
think is right and what I'd do over again. Do you believe that?"

"Certainly. As I told you, I'm