y clad, noisy,
perspiring species were slapping their thighs and choking in hilarious
appreciation of something which a third was reading from an open paper.
The reader made way for Melissa, backing and reading at the same time,
and the sound of their strangely incongruous mirth followed her up the
narrow, unswept, paper-strewn staircase into the stifling heat of the
second floor. She stopped there an instant, leaning against the railing,
uncertain what to do.

One of a pair of double doors opened, and a young man, swinging an
official-looking document, crossed the hall as if he might be walking in
his sleep, and went into a room beyond; kicking the door open, catching
it with his foot, and kicking it to behind him with a familiarity that
betokened long acquaintance, and inspired Melissa with confidence in his
probable knowledge of the intricate workings of justice. She stood still
a moment, clutching the limp folds of her skirt, until the young man
returned; then she took a step forward.

"I've come to tell what I know about the shootin'. I saw it," she
faltered.

The somnambulistic young man shut one eye, and inclined his ear toward
her without turning his head.

"Shooting? What shooting?"

"Up in Sawpit Canon--Mr. Sterling done it--but I saw it--nobody knows
it, though." The words came in short, palpitating sentences that died
away helplessly.

Her listener hesitated for an instant, scratching the blonde plush of
his cropped scalp with his lead-pencil. Then he stepped forward and
kicked one of the double doors open, holding it with his automatic foot.

"Bawb! oh, _Bawb!_" he called; "'m yer."

A short fat man, with an unbuttoned vest and a general air of excessive
perspiration, waddled past the bailiff and confronted Melissa. He smiled
when he saw her, displaying an upper row of teeth heavily trimmed with
gold, a style of personal adornment which impressed Melissa anew with
the vagaries of masculine city taste.

"Witness in the Withrow murder case, pros'cuting 'torney," said the
bailiff over his shoulder, by way of introduction, as he disappeared
through the door.

Melissa looked at the newcomer, trembling and dumb.

"Come in here, my girl," he said, steaming ahead of her through a door
in front of them; "come right in here. Is it pretty hot up your way?"

"Yes, sir," she quavered, not taking the chair he cleared for her. "I
come down to tell about the shootin': I'd ought to 'a' told before, but
I was