thick for travel. That would be bad, eh? very
bad--for _them_."

As none of the men he openly addressed saw fit to answer, save by the
hitch of a shoulder or a leer quickly suppressed, I kept silent also.
But this reticence, marked as it was, did not seem to offend the
new-comer. Shaking the wet from the umbrella he held, he stood the
dripping article up in a corner and then came and placed his feet on the
fender. To do this he had to crowd between the two men already occupying
the best part of the hearth. But he showed no concern at incommoding
them, and bore their cross looks and threatening gestures with
professional equanimity.

"You know me?" he now unexpectedly snapped, bestowing another look over
his shoulder at that oppressive figure in the chair. (Did I say that I
had risen when the latter sat?) "I'm no Westonhaugh, I; nor yet a
Witherspoon nor a Clapsaddle. I'm only Smead, the lawyer. Mr. Anthony
Westonhaugh's lawyer," he repeated, with another glance of recognition
in the direction of the picture. "I drew up his last will and testament,
and, until all of his wishes have been duly carried out, am entitled by
the terms of that will to be regarded both legally and socially as his
representative. This you all know, but it is my way to make everything
clear as I proceed. A lawyer's trick, no doubt. I do not pretend to be
entirely exempt from such."

A grumble from the large man, who seemed to have been disturbed in some
absorbing calculation he was carrying on, mingled with a few muttered
words of forced acknowledgment from the restless old sinner in the
chair, made it unnecessary for me to reply, even if the last comer had
given me the opportunity.

"It's getting late!" he cried, with an easy garrulity rather amusing,
under the circumstances. "Two more trains came in as I left the depot.
If old Phil was on hand with his wagon, several more members of this
interesting family may be here before the clock strikes; if not, the
assemblage is like to be small. Too small," I heard him grumble a minute
after, under his breath.

"I wish it were a matter of one," spoke up the big man, striking his
breast in a way to make it perfectly apparent whom he meant by that word
_one_. And having (if I may judge by the mingled laugh and growl of his
companions) thus shown his hand both figuratively and literally, he
relapsed into the calculation which seemed to absorb all of his
unoccupied moments.

"Generous, very!" commen