did you catch this cold?" went on Hetty, suspiciously.

The young man seemed to have arrived at some extreme height of feeling.
There were two modes of descent open to him--a burst of rage or a
surrender to the ridiculous. He chose wisely; and the empty hall echoed
his hoarse laughter.

"You're a dandy," said he. "And I don't blame you for being careful. I
don't mind telling you. I got wet. I was on a North River ferry a few
days ago when a girl jumped overboard. Of course, I--"

Hetty extended her hand, interrupting his story.

"Give me the onion," she said.

The young man set his jaw a trifle harder.

"Give me the onion," she repeated.

He grinned, and laid it in her hand.

Then Hetty's infrequent, grim, melancholy smile showed itself. She took
the young man's arm and pointed with her other hand to the door of her
room.

"Little Brother," she said, "go in there. The little fool you fished out
of the river is there waiting for you. Go on in. I'll give you three
minutes before I come. Potatoes is in there, waiting. Go on in, Onions."

After he had tapped at the door and entered, Hetty began to peel and
wash the onion at the sink. She gave a gray look at the gray roofs
outside, and the smile on her face vanished by little jerks and
twitches.

"But it's us," she said, grimly, to herself, "it's _us_ that furnished
the beef."

THE HIDING OF BLACK BILL

A lank, strong, red-faced man with a Wellington beak and small, fiery
eyes tempered by flaxen lashes, sat on the station platform at Los
Pinos swinging his legs to and fro. At his side sat another man, fat,
melancholy, and seedy, who seemed to be his friend. They had the
appearance of men to whom life had appeared as a reversible coat--seamy
on both sides.

"Ain't seen you in about four years, Ham," said the seedy man. "Which
way you been travelling?"

"Texas," said the red-faced man. "It was too cold in Alaska for me.
And I found it warm in Texas. I'll tell you about one hot spell I went
through there.

"One morning I steps off the International at a water-tank and lets it
go on without me. 'Twas a ranch country, and fuller of spite-houses than
New York City. Only out there they build 'em twenty miles away so you
can't smell what they've got for dinner, instead of running 'em up two
inches from their neighbors' windows.

"There wasn't any roads in sight, so I footed it 'cross country. The
grass was shoe-top deep, and the mesquite timber looked