the carriage lamp.

"Wait until we get home," he said. "I tell you it amounts to nothing."

"No, we will go to a restaurant," she replied.

The sensation was a half column of frightening head on a few inches of
smeared body. It declared that recent developments pointed to the fact
that Witherspoon and Brooks knew more concerning the whereabouts of
Dave Kittymunks than either of them cared to tell. It was known that
old Colton's extreme conservatism had been regarded as an obstruction,
and that while they might not actually have figured in the murder, yet
they were known to be pleased at the result, that the large reward was
all a "bluff," and that it was to their interest to aid the escape of
Kittymunks.

Before breakfast the next morning Brooks was at Witherspoon's house. A
"friend" had called his attention to the article. Had it appeared in
one of the reputable journals instead of in this fly-by-night smircher
of the characters of men, a suit for criminal libel would have been
brought, but to give countenance to this slander was to circulate it;
and therefore the two men were resolved not to permit the infamy to
place them under the contribution of a moment's worry.

"The character of a successful man is a target to be shot at by the
envious," said Witherspoon. He was pacing the room, and anger had
hardened his step. "A target to be shot at," he repeated, "and the
shots are free."

"I didn't know what to do," Brooks replied. He stood on the hearth-rug
with his hands behind him. "I was so worried that I couldn't sleep
after I saw the thing late last night; and my wife was crying when I
left home."

"Infamous scoundrels!" Witherspoon muttered.

"I didn't think anything could be done," Brooke continued, "but I
thought it best to see you at once."

"Of course," said Witherspoon.

"But, after all, don't you think we ought to have those wretches
locked up?" Brooke asked.

"Yes," Witherspoon answered, "and we ought to have them hanged, but we
might as well set out to look for Kittymunks. Ten chances to one they
are not here at all; the thing might have been printed in a town three
hundred miles from here."

"Yes, that's so," Brooks admitted; and addressing Henry, who stood at
a window, gazing out, he added: "What do you think about it?"

Henry did not heed the question, so forgetfully was he gazing, and
Brooks repeated it.

"If you have decided not to worry," Henry answered, "it is better not
to trouble yo