ir, and fall with a
loud noise and an angry yell to the ground, while his persecutor
vanished from the scene.

"O you outrageous villain!" cried Harry, shaking his fist at the door,
as he slowly gathered himself up: "I might have expected that."

"Quite so," said the doctor; "you might. It was very neatly done,
undoubtedly. Wilson deserves credit for the way in which it was
executed."

"He deserves to be executed for doing it at all," replied Harry, rubbing
his elbow as he resumed his seat.

"Any bark knocked off?" inquired the accountant, as he took a piece of
glowing charcoal from the stove wherewith to light his pipe. "Try a
whiff, Harry. It's good for such things. Bruises, sores, contusions,
sprains, rheumatic affections of the back and loins, carbuncles, and
earache--there's nothing that smoking won't cure; eh, doctor?"

"Certainly. If applied inwardly, there's nothing so good for digestion
when one doesn't require tonics.--Try it, Harry; it will do you good, I
assure you."

"No, thank you," replied Harry; "I'll leave that to you and the chimney.
I don't wish to make a soot-bag of my mouth. But tell me, doctor, what
do you mean to do with that lump of snow there?"

Harry pointed to a mass of snow, of about two feet square, which lay on
the floor beside the door. It had been placed there by the doctor some
time previously.

"Do with it? Have patience, my friend, and you shall see. It is a
little surprise I have in store for Hamilton."

As he spoke, the door opened, and a short, square-built man rushed into
the room, with a pistol in one hand and a bright little bullet in the
other.

"Hullo, skipper!" cried Harry, "what's the row?"

"All right," cried the skipper; "here it is at last, solid as the fluke
of an anchor. Toss me the powder-flask, Harry; look sharp, else it'll
melt."

A powder-flask was immediately produced, from which the skipper hastily
charged the pistol, and rammed down the shining bullet.

"Now then," said he, "look out for squalls. Clear the decks there."

And rushing to the door, he flung it open, took a steady aim at
something outside, and fired.

"Is the man mad?" said the accountant, as with a look of amazement he
beheld the skipper spring through the doorway, and immediately return,
bearing in his arms a large piece of fir plank.

"Not quite mad yet," he said, in reply, "but I've sent a ball of
quicksilver through an inch plank, and that's not a thing to be done