vaguely, but not as cheerfully as they might.

"I was just shutting up," began Harkutt, dubiously.

"I won't keep you a minit," said the intruder, nervously fumbling in
the breast pocket of his hickory shirt. "It's a matter of
business--Harkutt--I"--But he was obliged to stop here to wipe his
face and forehead with the ends of a loose handkerchief tied round his
throat. From the action, and what could be seen of his pale,
exhausted face, it was evident that the moisture upon it was beads of
perspiration, and not the rain which some abnormal heat of his body was
converting into vapor from his sodden garments as he stood there.

"I've got a document here," he began again, producing a roll of paper
tremblingly from his pocket, "that I'd like you to glance over, and
perhaps you'd"--His voice, which had been feverishly exalted, here broke
and rattled with a cough.

Billings, Wingate, and Peters fell apart and looked out of the window.
"It's too dark to read anything now, 'Lige," said Harkutt, with evasive
good humor, "and I ain't lightin' up to-night."

"But I can tell you the substance of it," said the man, with a faintness
that however had all the distinctness of a whisper, "if you'll just step
inside a minute. It's a matter of importance and a bargain"--

"I reckon we must be goin'," said Billings to the others, with marked
emphasis. "We're keepin' Harkutt from shuttin' up." "Good-night!"
"Good-night!" added Peters and Wingate, ostentatiously following
Billings hurriedly through the door. "So long!"