post-office and mail these."

He wrapped the papers carefully in his handkerchief, placed them in his
vest-pocket, and started off.

After he left, I leaned my elbow on the dusty window-sill and lounged
there awhile, watching him as he trotted busily down the deserted
street; then, rousing myself, I stretched my weary limbs and set about
arranging my desk, closing the safe, etc. At last everything was put in
order, and I seated myself in an arm-chair, rubbing my cramped fingers
and wrist, and afterward consulting my watch, more for something to do
than to ascertain the time, which the clock on the mantel-piece would
have told me.

Only quarter past seven, and he might be detained until, half-past
eight. I leaned back and closed my eyes. How still and hot it was! I
believe I was the only human being in that whole long block of big
buildings on that July evening. Everything was as quiet as the typical
country churchyard. I had a lethargic sense now and then of the far-off
tinkle of a car-bell. I could catch a distant rumble from a passing
vehicle a block or two away. And, yes, I _did_ observe the presence of a
dull, continuous drone, which proceeded from the direction of Baltimore
Street, but just as I sat up to hearken, some one passing whistled,
"Silver Threads among the Gold," the melody tracing itself upon the
stillness like phosphoric letters in a dark room. I listened with vivid
interest, but the tune presently grew fainter, faded, and was dissolved
into the dusk, leaving me lonelier than before, and too sleepy to give
my attention to the strange hum, of which I again became dully
conscious. It is tiresome work waiting here with nothing to do, was my
last drowsy thought, as I folded my arms on the desk, and rested my head