"I think he was a kind of a humbug," said Calvin Green, who, with his wife, had come up close behind. "See how he kept dragging in his morals, jes like overhauling a trawl and taking off a haddock, every once in so often."

"What away to travel," said his wife; "to go ker-jump from New York City to Niagara, and from there to Cleveland. He must have thought we had long stilts."

"The pictures were rather here and there and everywhere, to be sure,", said David; "but I have a good deal of charity for these men; I s'pose they 're put to it for bread and b.u.t.ter."

"Well, I don't know," said Green; "I don't think it has a good influence on young people to show such a picture as that man that they murdered by slicing his head off with that machine. I don't like such things to be brought up."

"I should think the opposite," said his wife, laughing, "by the way you 've told every man in town about David's money, and the way he blanched when he missed it. I think you 'd better take a lesson yourself about bringing up dreadful things."

When they reached Green's house, a low, black cottage, they stopped a moment for the women to finish a discussion about croup.

"How did that look to you now, David?" said Green. "Did n't you think it would have been a good deal better to have left that picture out?"

"Which one?" said David.

"Why, the one where they'd chopped the man's head off with that machine, and were standing by, looking at the corpse. I don't like to see such things, for my part."

"I don't know," said David. "I did n't think about it particularly. I understood it was in the French Revolution."

"Well, see all that flummer-diddle he got off about it," said Green; "just as if any fool did n't know that a man could n't sleep that was haunted by a thing like that."

"Well, some can stomach anything, and I suppose some can sleep on anything," said David. "I guess it would take more than slicing one man's head off to make that Jew lie awake nights. If he 'd only admitted that I 'd been there! But as soon as I said I 'd left something, then for him and his wife to claim they never saw me! They 're cool ones!"

"Well, right here,--about what my wife flung out," said Green, glancing over his shoulder to where the women were talking, both at once, woman-fashion; "you know my wife's way,--you haven't ever heard any such talk going round, have you, as that I was hounding folks about your bad luck? I say an honest man speaks right out,--no fear, no favor. Ain't that so?"

It was a bitterly cold, clear night, a few weeks later. Runners squeaked and boot-heels crunched in the road. David had pa.s.sed Green's house at seven o'clock, going to the store; he always went by there at that time, Sat.u.r.days, and pa.s.sed again, returning home, at about eight.

When he reached the gate, on his return, Green was standing there, apparently waiting.

"Come into the house a minute, David," he said; "I want to see you."

He led him into the kitchen.

"My wife's gone over to Aunt Nathan's for the evening," he said.

He shut the door, and locked it.

"There!" he said; "I can't stand it any longer;" and he laid upon a table at David's side a wallet. David took it up and opened it; it held a great roll of bills.

"What does this mean?" he said; "why--this is mine! You don't mean--"

"I mean I stole it," said Green.

David sat down. "I wish you had put it in the fire," he said, "and never told me."

"There 's just one thing I want to say," said Green. "I picked it up, first, to give it to you, and when I saw that you 'd forgot it, I thought I 'd have a little joke on you for a while; and then, when I saw how things was going, I kind o' drifted into keeping it. You know how I come home,--all my voyage eat up, and a hundred dollars' debts besides, and children sick. But every dollar 's there.

"Now, what I ask," he added, "is four days' time to ship and get away.

What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," said David; "settle your debts and pay me when you can." And taking five twenty-dollar bills from the wallet, he left them on the table and went away.