rior liberality, he made still another
discovery, and this, that the store door stood wide open to the night.

"Well," thought Mr. Shrimplin, "maybe he's saving oil, but he's wasting
fuel."

Approaching the door he peered in. The store was empty, Archibald
McBride was nowhere visible. Evidently the door had been open some
little time, for he could see where the snow, driven by the strong wind,
had formed a miniature snow-drift just beyond the threshold.

"Either he's stepped out and the door's blowed open," muttered Mr.
Shrimplin, "or he's in his back office and some customer went out
without latching it."

He paused irresolutely, then he put his hand on the knob of the door to
close it, and paused again. With his taste for fictitious horrors,
usually indulged in, however, by his own warm fireside, he found the
present time and place slightly disquieting; and then Bill's singular
and erratic behavior had rather weakened his nerve. From under knitted
brows he gazed into the room. The storm rattled the shuttered windows
above his head, the dingy sign creaked on its rusty fastenings, and with
each fresh gust the bracketed lamps rocked gently to and fro, and as
they rocked their trembling shadows slid back and forth along the walls.
The very air of the place was inhospitable, forbidding, and Mr.
Shrimplin was strongly inclined to close the door and beat a hasty
retreat.

Still peering down the narrow room with its sagging shelves and littered
counters, he crossed the threshold. Now he could see the office, a space
partitioned off at the rear of the building and having a glass front
that gave into the store itself. Here, as he knew, stood Mr. McBride's
big iron safe, and here was the high desk, his heavy ledgers--row after
row of them; these histories of commerce covered almost the entire
period during which men had bought and sold in Mount Hope.

A faint light burned beyond the dirty glass partition, but the tall
meager form of the old merchant was nowhere visible. Mr. Shrimplin
advanced yet farther into the room and urged by his sense of duty and
his public spirit, he directed his steps toward the office, treading
softly as one who fears to come upon the unexpected. Once he paused, and
addressing the empty air, broke the heavy silence:

"Oh, Mr. McBride, your door's open!"

The room echoed to his words.

"Well," carped Mr. Shrimplin, "I don't see as it's any of my business
to attend to his business!" But the ver