row of photographs, mostly of
a very high order, tacked along the wall separating the two rooms. They
were unframed, but they were mostly copies of great pictures, and the
effect was rather imposing in contrast to the shabby furniture and the
otherwise homely fittings.

"Yes, I've enough for that kind of thing," was his host's reply. But the
tone was reserved, and Sweetwater did not presume again along this line.
Instead, he looked well at the books piled upon the shelves under these
photographs, and wondered aloud at their number and at the man who could
waste such a lot of time in reading them. But he made no more direct
remarks. Was he cowed by the penetrating eye he encountered whenever he
yielded to the fascination exerted by Mr. Brotherson's personality and
looked his way? He hated to think so, yet something held him in check
and made him listen, open-mouthed, when the other chose to speak.

Yet there was one cheerful moment. It was when he noticed the careless
way in which those books were arranged upon their shelves. An idea had
come to him. He hid his relief in his cup, as he drained the last drops
of the coffee which really tasted better than he had expected.

When he returned from work that afternoon it was with an auger under his
coat and a conviction which led him to empty out the contents of a small
phial which he took down from a shelf. He had told Mr. Gryce that he was
eager for the business because of its difficulties, but that was when
he was feeling fine and up to any game which might come his way. Now he
felt weak and easily discouraged. This would not do. He must regain his
health at all hazards, so he poured out the mixture which had given him
such a sickly air. This done and a rude supper eaten, he took up his
auger. He had heard Mr. Brotherson's step go by. But next minute he
laid it down again in great haste and flung a newspaper over it. Mr.
Brotherson was coming back, had stopped at his door, had knocked and
must be let in.

"You're better this evening," he heard in those kindly tones which so
confused and irritated him.

"Yes," was the surly admission. "But it's stifling here. If I have to
live long in this hole I'll dry up from want of air. It's near the
shop or I wouldn't stay out the week." Twice this day he had seen
Brotherson's tall figure stop before the window of this shop and look in
at him at his bench. But he said nothing about that.

"Yes," agreed the other, "it's no way to l