anything so timidly unobtrusive as was that interruption, and only
after the intruder had plucked nervously at the elbow that supported
his chin did he realize that he was not alone. His head came up then,
slowly, until he was gazing back into the eyes of the little,
attenuated old man who, head tilted birdlike to one side, was standing
beside him in uncomfortable, apologetic silence.

It surprised Morehouse more than a little. For the life of him he
couldn't have told just whom he had expected to see when he looked up,
but nothing could have startled him more than the presence of that
white-haired wisp of a man with the beady eyes who fitted almost
uncannily into the perplexing puzzle which had held him there at his
desk until dusk. He forgot to greet the newcomer. Instead he sat
gazing at him, wide-mouthed, and after Old Jerry had borne the
scrutiny as long as he could he took the initiative himself.

"Well, I got here," he quavered. "I been a-tryin' to get upstairs to
see you ever since about three o'clock, and they wouldn't let me in.
Said you was too busy to be bothered, even when I told 'em I belonged
to the Gov'mint service. But I managed to slip by 'em at last!"

He paused and waited for some word of commendation. Morehouse merely
nodded. He was thinking--thinking hard! The voice was almost as
familiar to him as was his own, and yet it persisted in tantalizing
his memory. He couldn't quite place it. Old Jerry sensed something of
his difficulty.

"I'm from Boltonwood," he introduced himself, not quite so uncertainly.
"I'm Old Jerry. Maybe you remember me--I sat just next the stove that
night you was in town a-huntin' news."

Then Morehouse remembered. Old Jerry had not had much to say that
night, but his face and his shrill eagerness to snatch a little of the
spotlight was unforgettable. And it was of that very night Morehouse
had been thinking--that and the face of the big boy silent there on
the threshold--when the interruption came. But still he uttered no
welcome; instead there was something close akin to distinct aversion
in his manner as he drew up a chair for the old man.

Old Jerry felt the chill lack of cordiality, but he sat down. And
after a long period of silence, in which Morehouse made no move to put
him more at ease, he swallowed hard and went on with his explanation.

"I come down to--to see Denny fight," he stated. "It kinda seemed to
us--to me--that he'd think it strange if somebody from