There was a long, long silence. We just sat and watched
Gorgett. _I_ didn't want to say anything; and I believe Farwell
couldn't. It lasted so long that it began to look as if the little
blue haze at the end of Lafe's cigar was all that was going to
happen. But by and by he turned his head ever so little, and looked at
Knowles.

"Got your story for the _Herald_ set up yet?" he asked.

Farwell swallowed some more and just shook his head.

"Haven't begun to work up the case for the Grand Jury yet?"

"No," answered Farwell, in almost a whisper, his head hanging.

"Why," Lafe said, in a tone of quiet surprise; "you haven't given all
that up, have you?"

"Yes."

"Well, ain't that strange?" said Lafe. "What's the trouble?"

Knowles didn't answer. In fact, I felt mighty sorry for him.

All at once, Gorgett's manner changed; he threw away his cigar, the
only time I ever saw him do it without lighting another at the end of
it. His feet came down to the floor and he wheeled round on Farwell.

"I understand your wife's a mighty nice lady, Mr. Knowles."