The narrative had made but a slight impression on me at the time; I
didn't know the persons concerned, and had no reason to interest myself
in their fortunes. In those early days, moreover, I was often homesick,
and gave myself up readily to dreaming of English scenes and faces. Now
the words and drawling intonation came back to me distinctly, and with
them the question: Was the robber of Judge Shannon the same Williams who
had once been the Sheriff's partner? My first impulse was to hurry into
the street and try to find out; but it was the chief part of my duty to
stay in the office till six o'clock; besides, the Sheriff was "out of
town," and perhaps would not be back that day. The hours dragged to an
end at last; my supper was soon finished, and, as night drew down, I
hastened along the wooden side-walk of Washington Street towards the
Carvell House. This hotel was much too large for the needs of the little
town; it contained some fifty bedrooms, of which perhaps half-a-dozen
were permanently occupied by "high-toned" citizens, and a billiard-room
of gigantic size, in which stood nine tables, as well as the famous bar.
The space between the bar, which ran across one end of the room, and the
billiard-tables, was the favourite nightly resort of the prominent
politicians and gamblers. There, if anywhere, my questions would be
answered.

On entering the billiard-room I was struck by the number of men who had
come together. Usually only some twenty or thirty were present, half of
whom sat smoking and chewing about the bar, while the rest watched a
game of billiards or took a "life" in pool. This evening, however, the
billiard-tables were covered with their slate-coloured "wraps," while at
least a hundred and fifty men were gathered about the open space of
glaring light near the bar. I hurried up the room, but as I approached
the crowd my steps grew slower, and I became half ashamed of my eager,
obtrusive curiosity and excitement. There was a kind of reproof in the