cigar between his teeth, thinking. The lowering sun was pouring a
perfect flood of gold across the rag carpet, but he remained utterly
unconscious as to aught save the gloomy trend of his own awakened
memories. Some one rapped upon the outer door.

"Come in," he exclaimed, carelessly, and barely glancing up. "Well,
what is it this time, Mrs. Guffy?"

The landlady had never before seen this usually happy guest in his
present mood, and she watched him curiously.

"A man wants ter see ye," she announced, shortly, her hand on the knob.

"Oh, I'm in no shape for play to-night; go back and tell him so."

"Sure, an' it's aisy 'nough ter see thet wid half an eye. But this un
isn't thet koind of a man, an' he's so moighty perlite about it Oi jist
cud n't sind the loikes of him away. It's 'Missus Guffy, me dear
madam, wud ye be koind enough to convey me complimints to Misther
Robert Hampton, and requist him to grant me a few minutes of his toime
on an important matter?' Sure, an' what do ye think of thet?"

"Huh! one of those fellows who had these rooms?" and Hampton rose to
his feet with animation.

The landlady lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper.

"It's the Reverend Howard Wynkoop," she announced, impressively,
dwelling upon the name. "The Reverend Howard Wynkoop, the Prasbytarian
Missionary--wouldn't thet cork ye?"