classification was impossible, notwithstanding his years of
association with the peoples of many countries where English is spoken
more perfectly by the upper classes, who have a language of their own,
than it is in England itself.

He took a few turns up and down the long porch, stopping finally at
the upper end. The clear, inspiring clang of a hammer on an anvil fell
suddenly upon his ears. He looked at his watch. The hour was nine,
certainly an unusual time for men to be at work in a forge. He
remembered the two men in the tap-room who were bare-armed and wore
the shapeless leather aprons of the smithy.

He had been standing there not more than half a minute peering in the
direction from whence came the rhythmic bang of the anvil,--at no
great distance, he was convinced,--when some one spoke suddenly at his
elbow. He whirled and found himself facing the gaunt landlord.

"Good Lord! You startled me," he exclaimed. He had not heard the
approach of the man, nor the opening and closing of the tavern door.
His gaze travelled past the tall figure of Putnam Jones and rested on
that of a second man, who leaned, with legs crossed and arms folded,
against the porch post directly in front of the entrance to the house,
his features almost wholly concealed by the broad-brimmed slouch hat
that came far down over his eyes. He too, it seemed to Barnes, had
sprung from nowhere.

"Fierce night," said Putnam Jones, removing the corn-cob pipe from his
lips. Then, as an after thought: "Sorry I skeert you. I thought you
heerd me."