d, groping for
words to answer the high-vested inquisitor. "Like a child like. Never
scolded yer wunst.... Just up and give yer all yer wanted...."

The blue suit, given yesterday, seemed to have been conceived as a kind
of test case. The man appeared to feel that, once refused, a sort of
spell on him would be broken; he would then get out all his store and
wear them freely. So he had told a tall story in the office: how he was
surely going to settle down and be respectable this time, and was
obliged to have him a good nice suit fer to git started in.... And
Doctor had given him such a funny look that for a minute he thought sure
he had him. But no, the young man had laughed suddenly, as at a joke,
and said: "Well, you sit there, Mister, till I take these off...." Only
not to tell Mrs. Garland. Took him right back, sure did....

"So then I thinks," said Mister, the professional quaver returning to
his voice, "it's no better'n thievin' for to take off an innercent like
him, and thinks I, I'll git the lot of 'em, and give him like a
surprise. 'S a Gawd's truth, gents, like I'm tellin' yer. Nothin' at all
wore but mebbe that there derby, like I up and tole yer...."

His word had never been doubted: this passed invention. And he was
thanked, not chidden for his narrative, and Reverend said:

"He shall wear that suit for his burial...."

So the crows flitted out of the door again, their errand done; and
behind them was a deeper stillness than they had found.

The old waiting-room, a little dark at best, grew dimmer. Sunlight faded
from the ruined floor. The glorious afternoon was drawing in. The men
did not speak. And then in the lengthening silence, there floated up
small noises: a door creaking open; quiet feet upon the stairs; a faint
swishing as of a skirt.

The parson was standing by the half-open door.

"D'you think, sir," he spoke suddenly aloud, "there's any way to preach
to a man, like just being better than he is?"

O'Neill roused, but made no answer. He had been thinking of the day he
had seen this fellow Garland dodging down the hall with those trousers
there. Then, becoming aware of the footsteps, he said:

"Pond back ... Is it?"

But Mr. Dayne, looking out down the corridor, said no. After a pause, he
added, in a yet lower voice:

"It's young Cooney, from the Works ... And a lady."

A change had gone over the parson's kind face, making it still kinder.
His sense of surrounding desolation ebbed fr