n' mellifluously of my friends,"
declared the barber. "There ain't nobody in this parlor goin' to
speak a word against Captain Carroll if I'm in hearin'; there ain't
an honester man in this town."

The barber's back was towards the door. Suddenly Tappan's eyes stared
past him, his grin widened inexplicably. Flynn became aware of a
pregnant silence throughout the shop. He turned, following Tappan's
gaze, and Arthur Carroll stood there. He had entered silently and had
heard all the last of the discussion. Every face in the shop was
turned towards him; he stood looking at them with the curious
expression of a man taken completely off guard. All the serene force
and courtesy which usually masked his innermost emotions had, as it
were, slipped off; for a flash he stood revealed, soul-naked, for any
one who could see. None there could fully see, although every man
looked, sharpened with curiosity and suspicion. Carroll was white and
haggard, unsmiling, despairing, even pathetic; his eyes actually
looked suffused. Then in a flash it was over, and Arthur Carroll in
his usual guise stood before them--it was like one of those
metamorphoses of which one reads in fairy tales. Carroll stood there
smiling, stately, gracefully, even confidentially condescending. It
was as if he appealed to their sense of humor, that he, Carroll,
stood among them addressing them as their equals.

"Good-day, gentleman," he said, and came forward.

Little Willy Eddy sprang up with a frightened look and gave him his
chair, murmuring in response to Carroll's deprecating thanks that he
was just going; but he did not go. He remained in the doorway
staring. He had a vague idea of some judgment descending upon them
all from this great man whom they had been slandering.

"Well, how are you, captain?" said Lee, speaking with an air of
defiant importance. It became evident that what had gone before was
to be ignored by everybody except Tappan, who suddenly rose and went
out, muttering something which nobody heard. Then the lash of a whip
was heard outside, a "g'lang," with the impetus of an oath, and a
milk wagon clattered down the street.

Carroll replied to Lee, urbanely: "Fine," he said, "fine. How are
you, Mr. Lee?"

"Seems to me you are not looking quite up to the mark," Lee remarked,
surveying him with friendly solicitude.

The little barber had returned to Amidon in the chair, and was
carefully scraping his cheek with the razor.

"Then my looks