humming tranquilly on, and gave no sign; and for this I was grateful.
Grateful, yes, but still uneasy; and soon I began to feel more and more
uneasy every minute, for every minute that went by that odor thickened up
the more, and got to be more and more gamey and hard to stand. Presently,
having got things arranged to his satisfaction, the expressman got some
wood and made up a tremendous fire in his stove.

This distressed me more than I can tell, for I could not but feel that it
was a mistake. I was sure that the effect would be deleterious upon my
poor departed friend. Thompson--the expressman's name was Thompson, as I
found out in the course of the night--now went poking around his car,
stopping up whatever stray cracks he could find, remarking that it didn't
make any difference what kind of a night it was outside, he calculated to
make us comfortable, anyway. I said nothing, but I believed he was not
choosing the right way. Meantime he was humming to himself just as
before; and meantime, too, the stove was getting hotter and hotter, and
the place closer and closer. I felt myself growing pale and qualmish,
but grieved in silence and said nothing.

Soon I noticed that the "Sweet By and By" was gradually fading out; next
it ceased altogether, and there was an ominous stillness. After a few
moments Thompson said,

"Pfew! I reckon it ain't no cinnamon 't I've loaded up thish-yer stove
with!"

He gasped once or twice, then moved toward the cof--gun-box, stood over
that Limburger cheese part of a moment, then came back and sat down near
me, looking a good deal impressed. After a contemplative pause, he said,
indicating the box with a gesture,