roine and down he sat to
his story again. At least there was nothing demanding attention this
moment. He need not decide what he would do. If he went there were few
preparations to make. He would toss some things into his carpet-bag and
pretend to have been summoned to see a sick and dying relative, a
long-lost brother or something. It would be easy to invent one when the
time came. Then he could leave directions for the rest of his things to be
packed if he did not return, and get rid of the trouble of it all. As for
the letters, if he was going what use to bother with them? Let them wait
till his successor should come. It mattered little to him whether his
employers suffered for his negligence or not so long as he finished his
story. Besides, it would not do to let that cad think he had frightened
him. He would pretend he was not going, at least during his hours of
grace. So he picked up his book and went on reading.

At noon he sauntered back to his boarding house as usual for his dinner,
having professed an unusually busy morning to those who came in to the
office on business and made appointments with them for the next day. This
had brought him much satisfaction as the morning wore away and he was left
free to his book, and so before dinner he had come to within a very few
pages of the end.

After a leisurely dinner he sauntered back to the office again, rejoicing
in the fact that circumstances had so arranged themselves that he had
passed David Spafford in front of the newspaper office and given him a
most elaborate and friendly bow in the presence of four or five
bystanders. David's look in return had meant volumes, and decided Harry
Temple to do as he had been ordered, not, of course, because he had been
ordered to do so, but because it would be an easier thing to do. In fact
he made up his mind that he was weary of this part of the country. He went
back to his book.

About the middle of the afternoon he finished the last pages. He rose up
with alacrity then and began to think what he should do. He glanced around
the room, sought out a few papers, took some daguerreotypes of girls from
a drawer of his desk, gave a farewell glance around the dismal little room
that had seen so much shirking for the past few months, and then went out
and locked the door.

He paused at the corner. Which way should he go? He did not care to go
back to the office, for his book was done, and he scarcely needed to go to
his room at