That Mike had delayed or entirely forgotten to
hammer up these same iron shutters when the stranger
brought in the dressing-case accounted for the fact of
Otto Kling's shop having been kept open until so late.
It also accounted for the fact that when the same
stranger appeared early the next morning (Mike was
tending the store) and made his way to where the Irishman
sat he found him conning the head-lines of the
morning paper. That worthy man-of-all-work, never
having laid eyes on him before, at once made a mental
note of the intruder's well-cut English clothes, heavy
walking-shoes, and short brier-wood pipe, and, concluding
therefrom that he was a person of importance,
stretched out his hand toward the bell-rope in connection
with the breakfast-room above, at the same time
saying with great urbanity: "Take a chair, or, if yer
cold, come up near the stove. Mr. Kling will be down
in a minute. He's up-stairs eatin' his breakfast with his
little girl. I'm not his man or I'd wait on ye meself.
A little fresh, ain't it, after the wet night we had?"

"I left a dressing-case here last night," ventured the
intruder.

Mike's chin went out with a quick movement, his
face expressive of supreme disgust at his mistake.
"Oh, is it that? Somethin' ye had to sell? Well, then,
maybe you'd better call durin' the day."

"No, I will wait--you need not ring. I have nothing