oute back
in the hills went mailless that day, and for that reason there were
more than enough papers to go around when he finally gave the old
guard which was waiting in vain for Old Jerry's appearance upon the
top step of the post-office, the benefits of his wider reading.

There had been a fierce factional debate raging when he came up
late to take his unobtrusive place upon the sidewalk, but even before
he added his voice to the din those who argued that the old
mail-carrier's disappearance could be in no way connected with that
of Young Denny Bolton, who had gone the way of all the others of
his line, were in a hopeless minority.

Their timidest member's announcement stunned them all to silence--left
them hushed and speechless--not for an hour or two, but for the days
that followed as well. Even the red-headlined account which had come
with that morning's batch of news of Young Denny's victory and the
fall of Jed The Red, whom they had championed under the Judge's able
leadership, failed to stir up any really bitter wrangle.

They sat in an apathetic circle, waiting for Old Jerry to come.

But no one, not even Morehouse, knew when Old Jerry disappeared that
night after Jed Conway had come hurtling from his corner, only to lift
and whirl and go crashing back before the impact of The Pilgrim's
leaping gloves. At first the plump newspaper man believed that the
surging, shouting wave of humanity which had broken comber-like over
the ropes to hail a newer favorite had separated the little,
bird-faced man from him. Only a recollection of those vice-like
fingers clinging to his arm a moment before made that probability seem
unbelievable.

It was a long time before The Pilgrim's brain had again become clear
enough to grasp the meaning of the questions which Morehouse put to
him, but Denny did not know even as much as did the round-faced
reporter himself. He only recognized the description of the shrill
voiced, beady-eyed mail carrier.

To Old Jerry belonged the only comprehensive explanation for his
sudden withdrawal from the scene, just at that moment when his own
share in it might have been not inconsequential. And more than that,
his resolution to keep it strictly and privately his own grew firmer
and firmer, the more thought he gave to it.

In those hours which intervened between the impulse which had resulted
in his modest retreat from Morehouse's side, under cover of the
crowd's wild demonstration, and the n