himself in drunken idleness the rest of his
days. His favourite haunt was the spot he now sat. He loved to listen,
and also to express himself from time to time. A general laugh greeted
Tim's sally.

"Mr. Hoonover will arrive, never fear!" piped a third voice.

It came from against the wall, and the speaker was Colonel Whitley. He
was an old, dried-up little man, with keen eyes, bushy brows, hawk nose
and fuzzy gray side whiskers. He was the learned one of the group--quite
a scholar indeed. He had been "abroad" in his day, too, and this fact
invested him with an added dignity in the eyes of his stay-at-home
townspeople. His profession had formerly been the practice of law, but
he had retired several years before. Nevertheless he always came up to
the courthouse yard every morning to read his paper, and occasionally to
let his voice be heard.

"Possess your souls in patience," he added, "and presently you will
witness the fulfillment of my prediction."

His head went down behind the paper. His hearers were accustomed to his
bombastic style of speech, and admired him too much even to smile at the
fulness of his rhetoric.

A figure came thumping hurriedly across the yard, a black medicine case
in its hand, its vest secured by a single button at the bottom, wearing
a white shirt streaked with ambier, and a derby hat much too large.

"Hullo, doc!" greeted Judge Colver, as the new-comer halted and glared
around as though expecting some hostile move. "The small-pox didn't
spread, did it?"

"Who said it would spread?" snapped Doctor Kale.

"It has a trick o' doin' it, I believe!" retorted the judge.

"Not if it's taken in time, and handled right. You can't kill a damned
pauper!"

"You didn't try 'im!" grinned old Tim Mellowby, "or maybe you'd had
better luck than the new man!"

Doctor Kale wheeled, but when he saw from whence this remark originated
he turned his back in silent contempt.

"I've come from Tom Dudley's, and it's a good day with them," he
observed, abruptly, his harsh crust melting before some powerful inner
force.

"I presume one of them is ill, to require the presence of a physician,"
piped the voice from the wall again. "Then how can you say it is a good
day with them?"

For a wonder Doctor Kale did not retort. He heard Colonel Whitley
plainly, and his ears detected the note of irony in the question, but
his asperity seemed suddenly to have melted; to have merged with and
become engulfed in th