Shoulders stalwart, but not
too broad, rounded beautifully into the upper arm; the chest swelled
like a full sail; many a woman in that town had a larger waist. Never he
moved but muscle flowed and rippled under the shining skin; he raised
his right hand to scratch his left ear, and the hard blue biceps leaped
out like a live thing. In fact, it had been some months since the young
man had first entertained the suspicion that he could administer that
thrashing to Mr. Pat whenever he felt inclined. Only it happened that he
and Mr. Pat had become pretty good friends now, and it was the
proof-reader's boast that he had never once made a bull in "Mr. Queed's
copy" since the day of the famous fleas.

In the quiet night the young man stood resting from his labors, and
taking depressed thought. He was covered with grime and streaked with
sweat; a ragged red stripe on his cheek, where a board had bounced up
and struck him, detracted nothing from the sombreness of his appearance.
Somewhere, valuable papers waited to be found; bank-books, certainly;
very likely stock or bonds or certificates of deposit; please God, a
will. Somewhere--but where? From his father's significant remark during
their last conversation, he would have staked his life that all these
things were here, in easy reach. And yet--

Standing precariously on the loose-piled bricks of the fireplace, he
looked over the ravaged room. He felt profoundly discouraged. Success in
this search meant more to him than he liked to think about, and now his
chance of success had shrunk to the vanishing point. The bowels of the
room lay open before his eye, and there was no hiding-place in them. He
knew of nowhere else to look. The cold fear seized him that the money
and the papers were hidden beyond his finding--that they lay tucked away
in some safety-deposit vault in New York, where his eye would never hunt
them out.

Surface's son leaned against the elaborate mantel, illimitably weary. He
shifted his position ever so little; and thereupon luck did for him what
reason would never have done. The brick on which his right foot rested
turned under his weight and he lost his foothold. To save himself, he
caught the mantel-top with both hands, and the next moment pitched
heavily backward to the floor.

The mantel, in fact, had come off in his hands. It pitched to the floor
with him, speeding his fall, thumping upon his chest like a vigorous
adversary. But the violence of his de