on's goin' on,
I'd appreciate it, Al. I kind of hate to be left here alone with nobody
but Issachar to lean on. Issy's a good deal like a post in some ways,
especially in the makeup of his head, but he's too ricketty to lean on
for any length of time."

That evening Albert went to the post-office for the mail. On his way
back as he passed the dark corner by the now closed and shuttered
moving-picture theater he was hailed in a whisper.

"Al," said a voice, "Al."

Albert turned and peered into the deep shadow of the theater doorway. In
the summer this doorway was a blaze of light and gaiety; now it was cold
and bleak and black enough. From the shadow a small figure emerged on
tiptoe.

"Al," whispered Mr. Keeler. "That's you, ain't it? Yes, yes--yes, yes,
yes--I thought 'twas, I thought so."

Albert was surprised. For one thing it was most unusual to see the
little bookkeeper abroad after nine-thirty. His usual evening procedure,
when not on a vacation, was to call upon Rachel Ellis at the Snow place
for an hour or so and then to return to his room over Simond's shoe
store, which room he had occupied ever since the building was erected.

There he read, so people said, until eleven sharp, when his lamp was
extinguished. During or at the beginning of the vacation periods he
usually departed for some unknown destination, destinations which,
apparently, varied. He had been seen, hopelessly intoxicated, in
Bayport, in Ostable, in Boston, once in Providence. When he returned he
never seemed to remember exactly where he had been. And, as most people
were fond of and pitied him, few questions were asked.

"Why, Labe!" exclaimed Albert. "Is that you? What's the matter?"

"Busy, are you, Al?" queried Laban. "In a hurry, eh? Are you? In a
hurry, Al, eh?"

"Why no, not especially."

"Could you--could you spare me two or three minutes? Two or three
minutes--yes, yes? Come up to my room, could you--could you, Al?"

"Yes indeed. But what is it, Labe?"

"I want to talk. Want to talk, I do. Yes, yes, yes. Saw you go by and
I've been waitin' for you. Waitin'--yes, I have--yes."

He seized his assistant by the arm and led him across the road toward
the shoe store. Albert felt the hand on his arm tremble violently.

"Are you cold, Labe?" he asked. "What makes you shiver so?"

"Eh? Cold? No, I ain't cold--no, no, no. Come, Al, come."

Albert sniffed suspiciously, but no odor of alcohol rewarded the sniff.
Neither was there