ir
and it came from Scotland."

But his voice was tired.

Kenny rummaged in the closet for his brandy.

"There are times," said Adam queerly, "when you've an open-hearted,
understanding way about you. I believe you even know why I get drunk."

"Yes," said Kenny, "I think I do."

Adam dropped hack limply in his chair.

"It's because," he whispered, "I've--got--to--sleep!"

Startled at his manner, Kenny remembered the fairy mill and wondered.

CHAPTER XIII

KENNY'S TRUTH CRUSADE

Kenny began his truth crusade the next night.

"Adam," he said, halting on the threshold of the old man's sitting room
with one hand carelessly behind him and his attitude expectant and
determined, "I've often wondered why every book in the farmhouse is up
here on your shelves."

Adam cupped his ear with his hand.

"Wh-a-a-a-t?" he asked blankly.

Kenny brought the hand behind his back forward. It held a megaphone.

"I said," he bellowed through it, "that I've often wondered why all the
books in the farmhouse are here upon your shelves."

Adam sat up.

"For God's sake, Kenny," he said. "Close the door. Where did you get
that thing?" he demanded with a scowl.

"It's Hughie's and the very sight of it was an inspiration."

"Give it to me!"

"On the contrary I intend to cure your deafness."

Adam stared.

"I mean just this: You can hear as well as I can. You pretend to be
deaf when you don't want to hear."

"What?" snapped the old man with a glance like lightning.

"You told me to practice the truth," reminded Kenny, dropping into a
chair. "I'm merely beginning. I've a lot to say. And the health of
your hearing, Adam, is an indispensable adjunct to my practice hour and
my peace of mind. I'm merely insuring myself against your refusing
with a feint of deafness to hear what I have to say."

"For once," said Adam insolently, "you've scored. But if ever I get my
hands on that damned megaphone, I'll burn it."

"You won't get your hands on it," retorted Kenny. "And if you do I'll
buy a bigger one."

It was hard to begin but Kenny with his mouth set thought of Joan. He
told Adam Craig he was a miser.

In the dreadful silence the tick of the old clock on the mantel seemed
to Kenny's distracted ears a perpetuity of measured taps upon a
death-drum. He thought of Poe and the pit and the pendulum. He
thought of Joan and told himself fiercely that he did it all for her;
for her he was winding around himsel