ncient tap-room of the tavern, which had
been built at that pre-Revolutionary time when the stuffed catamount,
with its fangs and claws bared to the York State officers, crouched on
top of the staff at Bennington--for Polktown was one of the oldest
settlements in these "Hampshire Grants."

No noisier or more ill-favored crew, Janice Day thought, could ever
have been gathered under the roof of the Inn, than she now saw as she
pushed open the screen. Tobacco smoke poisoned the air, floating in
clouds on a level with the men's heads, and blurring the lamplight.

There was a crowd of men and boys at the door of the dance hall. At
the bar was another noisy line. It was evident that Joe Bodley had
merely run from behind the bar for a moment to stop, if he could,
Hopewell Drugg's departure. Hopewell was flushed, hatless, and
trembling. Whether he was intoxicated or ill, the fact remained that
he was not himself.

The storekeeper clung with both hands to the neck of his violin. A
greasy-looking, black-haired fellow held on to the other end of the
instrument, and was laughing in the face of the expostulating Frank
Bowman, displaying a wealth of white teeth, and the whites of his eyes,
as well. He was a foreigner of some kind. Janice had never seen him
before, and she believed he must be the "foxy-looking" man Frank had
previously mentioned.

It was, however, Joe Bodley, whom the indignant young girl confronted
when she came so suddenly into the room. Most of the men present paid
no attention to the quarreling group at the entrance.

"Come now, Hopewell, be a sport," the young barkeeper was saying.
"It's early yet, and we want to hear more of your fiddling. Give us
that 'Darling, I Am Growing Old' stuff, with all the variations.
Sentiment! Sentiment! Oh, hullo! Evening, Miss! What can I do for
you?"

He said this last impudently enough, facing Janice. He was a
fat-faced, smoothly-shaven young man--little older than Frank Bowman,
but with pouches under his eyes and the score of dissipation marked
plainly in his countenance. He had unmeasured impudence and bravado in
his eyes and in his smile.

"I have come to speak to Mr. Drugg," Janice said, and she was glad she
could say it unshakenly, despite her secret emotions. She would not
give this low fellow the satisfaction of knowing how frightened she
really was.

Frank Bowman's back was to the door. Perhaps this was well, for he
would have hesitated to do