man Hardcastle's daughter. I wouldn't talk to just any stray
person this away, Alf, but me and you was boys together, and you've
always been my friend. She's got me, Alf--I don't exactly know how--but
she could crook her little finger at me and I'd make for her side--yes,
sir, I would, through flame and smoke, if the world was coming to an
end."

The talk had grown serious; there was a moist gleam in Cahew's blue
eyes, and he snuffed as if he had a cold. Henley was glad of the
interruption brought about by the arrival of a stranger who entered the
front door and came back to them with swift, steady strides. He was fat,
middle-aged, short, had a round, smooth face, and in removing his straw
hat to fan his pink brow he disclosed a very bald head.

"I don't know whether you gentlemen are in need of anything in my line,"
he said, as he drew a big book of illustrations from beneath his arm and
opened it on Henley's desk. "But I was givin' yore town and vicinity the
one and only chance of its life to git the only true and artistic thing
in marble. I'm agent for the Adamantyne Tombstone Company, of Tennessee.
We own the only quarry of snow-white, non-grit, pristyne Parian rock on
this side of the blue ocean, and we have in our employ the best and most
world-renowned chisel-artists that ever breathed the spark of life into
inanimate matter. Now, just set where you are, gentlemen--don't
move--and I'll show you a beauty--a tombstone that will make a man want
to die--if he's able to pay the price."

He held his book of illustrations open before Henley, whose eyes were
twinkling mischievously as they rested on his clerk.

"I'm not in the market," he said, without a smile. "I wouldn't buy any
but a second-handed one, and then it would have to be so cheap that a
dead man would kick it off of his grave in disgust. You've got in the
wrong box. If you'll look about amongst the junk I've got in my
back-yard you may find one or two lying about."

"I see you've got a streak of fun in you," the agent said,
good-naturedly, and at this instant old Jason Wrinkle entered and
sauntered back to the group. He seemed to recognize the stranger, for
the two exchanged nods of greeting. "I'm still at it, you see," the
salesman said. "I'm going to give all a chance. How about you, sir?" and
he turned to Cahews. "I may find you serious, if this man ain't. Death
is beautiful when it is properly looked at and provided for."

"I don't need anything i