lied his plumb to the wall and eyed it critically.

CHAPTER IV

The residence on which John was at work was almost finished. He was on
the highest scaffold one morning, superintending the slating of the
roof, when, hearing Cavanaugh shouting on the sidewalk below, he glanced
down. The contractor, with his thin alpaca coat on his arm, was
signaling to him to come down.

"All right," John said. "In a minute. I'm busy now. Don't throw the
broken ones away," he added to the workers. "Stack 'em up. We get
rebates on them, and have to count the bad ones."

"Right you are, boss," a negro answered, with a chuckle. "Besides, we
might split somebody's skull open."

"Oh, come on down!" Cavanaugh shouted again, with his cupped hands at
his lips. "I want to see you."

"I can't do two things at once," John said, with a frown and a
suppressed oath. "Say, boys, get that next line straight! Look for
cracked slate, take 'em out, and lap the smooth ones right."

He found Cavanaugh near the front fence. The contractor was fond of
jesting when he was in a good humor, and from his smiling face he seemed
to-day to be in the best of spirits.

"No use finishing the roof," he said, squinting along the north wall of
the building. "That wall is out of plumb and has to come down. Great
pity. Foundation must have settled. That's bad, my boy."

"Well, it was _your_ foundation, not mine," John retorted, seeing his
trend. "What do you want?"

Slowly Cavanaugh took a letter from the pocket of his baggy trousers and
held it in his fat hands. "What you think this letter is about?" He
smiled with tobacco-stained lips.

"How the devil would I know?" John asked, impatiently.

"Well, I'll tell you," Cavanaugh continued. "It is from the Ordinary of
Chipley County, Tennessee. He says he is writing to all the many bidders
on that court-house to let 'em know the final decision on the bids. He
was powerful sorry, he said, to have to tell me that I was nowhere nigh
the lowest mark. Read what he says."

Wondering over his friend's mood, John opened the letter. It was a
formal and official acceptance of the bid made by Cavanaugh. Without a
change of countenance John folded the sheet, put it into the envelop,
and handed it back. Some negroes were passing with stacks of slates on
their shoulders.

"Be careful there, Bob!" he ordered, sharply. "You drop another load of
those things and I'll dock you for a day's pay."

"All right now, boss," th