ey turned the corner. Susie and her companion were on the point of
disappearing in a doorway fifty yards down Sickle Street.

Anderson slowed up. He removed his broad felt hat with the gold cord
around it, and mopped his forehead.

"That's the tin-type gallery," he said, a little out of breath.

"Worse an' more of it," said Alf. "That's the surest sign I know of. It
never fails. Mollie an' me had our'n taken the day before we was married
an'--an'--why, it's almost the same as a certificat', Anderson."

"Now, you move on, Alf," commanded the marshal. "How many times I got to
tell you not to loiter aroun' the streets? Move on, I say."

"Aw, now, Anderson--"

"I'll have to run you in, Alf. The ord'nance is very p'ticular, an' that
notice stuck up on the telephone pole over there means you more'n
anybody else. No loiterin'."

"If you need any evidence ag'in that Schultz boy, just call on me," said
Alf generously. "I seen him commit an atrocity last week."

"What was it?"

"He give that little Griggs girl a lift in his butcher wagon," said Alf
darkly.

Anderson scowled. "The sooner we run these cussed Germans out o' town
the better off we'll be."

Alf ambled off, casting many glances over his shoulder, and the marshal
crossed the street and entered Hawkins's Undertaking and Embalming
establishment, from a window of which he had a fair view of the
"studio."

Presently Susie and young Schultz emerged, giggling and snickering over
the pink objects they held in their hands. They sauntered slowly,
shoulder to shoulder, in the direction of Main Street.

Mr. Hawkins was in the middle of one of his funniest stories when
Anderson got up and walked out hurriedly. The undertaker had a
reputation as a wit. He was the life of the community. He radiated
optimism, even when most depressingly employed. And here he was telling
Anderson Crow a brand-new story he had heard at a funeral over in
Kirkville, when up jumps his listener and "lights out" without so much
as a word. Mr. Hawkins went to the door and looked out, expecting to see
a fight or a runaway horse or a German airplane. All he saw was the
marshal not two doors away, peering intently into a show-window, while
from across the street two young people regarded him with visible
amusement. For a long time thereafter the undertaker sat in his office
and stared moodily at the row of caskets lining the opposite wall. Could
it be possible that he was losing his grip?

Miss