cleaned up the dishes and changed to
decent clothes the weight of some duty seemed to haunt him. Was it
McGraw? No, he had loaded the last sack and sent him on his way. It was
Drusilla--she had been going to sing for him.

Denver stepped to the door and looked down at the house and his heart
sank low at the thought. They had invited him to dinner and he had
forgotten to come, he had gone home and fallen asleep. And no one had
come to call him--or to inquire what had kept him away. A heavy guilt
came over him as he gazed down at the house with its broad porch and
trailing Virginia creepers, the Hills would take it very ill to have
their invitation ignored. Old Bunk had told him the time before, when he
had invited him in to dinner: "Now, for the last time, Denver----" and
it would take more than mere words to ever mend that breach. Denver
paced back and forth, undecided what to do, and at last he decided to do
nothing. As the sun went down he ate another supper and drugged his
sorrows with sleep.

The next morning he rose early and shaved and bathed and put on his last
clean shirt, and then he walked down to the town; but the store was
locked, there was no voices from the house, only a smoke from the
kitchen stove. He went on to his mine and looked it over, and as he
passed the Professor leered out at him; there was something that he
knew, some bad news or spiteful gossip, for he found pleasure only in
evil. Denver came back down the street, that was now as deserted as it
had been before the stampede, and once more the Professor looked out.

"Vell," he said, "so you haf lost your sveetheart!" And he chuckled and
shut the door softly.

Denver stopped and stood staring, hardly crediting the news, yet
conscious of the sinister exulting. The Professor was glad, therefore
the news was bad; but what did he mean by those words? Had Drusilla gone
away or had she thrown him over for neglecting to keep his engagement?
She had probably spoken her mind as she watched for him at the doorway
and the Professor had been out there, eavesdropping.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded at last but the Professor only
tittered. Then he dropped the heavy bar across his door and Denver took
the hint to move on. He went down past the house and looked it over
hopefully, but as no one came out he pocketed his pride and knocked,
like a hobo battering the door for a meal, Mrs. Hill came out slowly as
if preoccupied with other things, but