ed," swore Old Chauncey with toothpaste foam dribbling
down his chin. "He complains he can't do his chopping on account of his
rheumatism, and look at the old turkey go! I see where I chop kindling
for both of us from now on."

When Old Shep showed up to get in a few licks of whittling before
breakfast, Chauncey inquired, "How's that rheumatism?"

"Fierce, Chauncey. I'm getting mighty creaky."

"Well, help yourself to my kindling, Shep. Long as I _know_ where it's
disappearing to, I don't give a durn."

"Thanks, Chauncey; thanks! I knew you'd feel that way."

The bacon, eggs, and delicately crusty fried potatoes hit the palate so
ambrosially that, after breakfast, Chauncey was seduced into the
disastrous error of mentioning to Shep the chances of marrying Miss
Lilleoden: error, for it was only human nature to covet the goods which
another man prized most.

Thenceforward Old Shep neglected his whittling or idled awkwardly with
it in the kitchen, where a housekeeper spends most of her time. Chauncey
observed blackly that Old Shep had a cunning way with him, too.

"Durn it," Chauncey ruminated dismally, "everything I want, he gets. If
I tell him to stay away from her he won't take me seriously. The old
hoodoo always has his way. Anyhow, his durned whittling is out of my
sight."

* * * * *

Befell a morning when Old Shep didn't appear, and Chauncey found him
stretched out stiff half-way down the side hill. In Shep's vulturine
right fist was clenched a small crumple of bills. This pilfering had
occurred with such regularity that the companion of Chauncey's childhood
had accumulated just about enough to get started with Celia Lilleoden.

Chauncey asked the coroner, a glistening little round man like a wet
dumpling, "Is he dead?"

"Of course he's dead," said the coroner. "Obviously."

"He has no kin," Celia reminded Old Chauncey in her slow, soft
contralto.

"I'll do him one more favor," Chauncey offered unblinkingly. "He can
have my lot in the cemet'ry."

The lot in Dream Hill Cemetery measured eight feet long, five feet wide
and ten feet deep, meaning that it had been excavated and ready for
occupancy these past five years. The walls were common brick. On the
floor was a stone bed to lie on. Whimsically Chauncey had also installed
a small table furnished with a tobacco bag and pipe, matches, an alarm
clock with an illuminated dial, and an ashtray. And a thick, plumber's
candle