I argued. "They'd guy me to death if I didn't
sit in with the gang to-night. They'd chaff me because it was too cold
for me to get out. But I'm no pampered sissy, you know, and I want to
see--"

"Yes," she retorted bitingly, "I know. You want to go and bask in that
elegant company. Our stove's just as good as the one down at that dirty
old store," continued my persistent and anxious parent, "and it's
certainly not very flattering to think that you leave us on a night like
this to--Who'll be there, anyway?"

"Oh, the usual five or six I suppose," I answered as I adjusted the wick
of my lantern, hearing as I did the snarl and cut of the wind through
the evergreens in the yard.

"That black-whiskered sphinx, Hammersly, will he be there?"

"Yes, he'll be there, I'm pretty sure."

"Hm-m!" she exclaimed, her expression now carrying all the contempt for
my judgment and taste she intended it should. "Button your coat up good
around your neck, then, if you must go to see your precious Hammersly
and the rest of them. Have you ever heard that man say anything yet?
Does he speak at all, Jerry?" Then her gentle mind, not at all
accustomed to hard thoughts or contemptuous remarks, quickly changed.
"Funny thing about that fellow," she mused. "He's got something on his
mind. Don't you think so, Jerry?"

"Y-es, yes I do. And I've often wondered what it could be. He
certainly's a queer stick. Got to admit that. Always brooding. Good
fellow all right, and, for a 'sphinx' as you call him, likable. But I
wonder what is eating him?"

"What do you suppose it could be, Jerry boy?" questioned Mother
following me to the door, the woman of her now completely forgetting her
recent criticisms and, perhaps, the rough night her son was about to
step into. "Do you suppose the poor chap has a--a--broken heart, or
something like that? A girl somewhere who jilted him? Or maybe he loves
someone he has no right to!" she finished excitedly, the plates in her
hand rattling.

"Maybe it's worse than that," I ventured. "P'r'aps--I've no right to say
it--but p'r'aps, and I've often thought it, there's a killing he wants
to forget, and can't!"

* * * * *

I heard my mother's sharp little "Oh!" as I shut the door behind me and
the warmth and comfort of the room away. Outside it was worse than the
whistle of the wind through the trees had led me to expect. Black as
pitch it was, and as cold as blazes. For the first moment