t of four."

"But the noise is bad for folks, Twombley."

"They like it," Twombley broke in. "Makes 'em jump and know they're
alive. It's like fleas on dogs."

"When I'm talking business with Rivers," Twombley insisted, "I hate
the racket."

"All right, when I see you there, I'll hold off."

But Maclin did not want always to be seen at the shack. It was one
thing to stroll down to the Point, now and again, with that air of
having made mistakes in the past and greeting the Pointers pleasantly,
and quite another to find out, secretly, just what progress Larry was
making in his interests and knowing what Larry was doing with his long
days and nights.

So, after a fortnight of consideration, Maclin walked with Rivers from
the mines one night determined to spend several hours in the shack and
"use his eyes." Larry did not seem particularly pleased with this
intention and paused several times on the rough, dusky road, giving
Maclin an opportunity to bid him good-night. But Maclin stuck like the
little brown devil-pitchforks that decorated the trousers of both men
as they strode on the woodside of the road.

"I'm like a rat in a hole," Larry confided, despairing of shaking
Maclin off. "I wish to God you'd send me away somewhere--overseas, if
you can. You once promised that."

Maclin's eyes contracted, but it was too dark for Rivers to notice.

"Too late, just now, Rivers. That hell of a time they're having over
there keeps peaceful folks to their own waters."

"Sometimes"--Larry grew moody--"I've thought I'd like to tumble into
that mess and either----"

"What?" Abruptly Maclin caught Rivers up.

"Oh! go under or--come to the top." This was to laugh--so both men
laughed.

Laughing and talking in undertones, they came to the dark shack and
Larry, irritated at his inability to drop Maclin, unlocked the door
and went in, followed by his unwelcome guest.

"What in thunder do you lock this old rookery up for?" Maclin asked,
stumbling over a chair.

"I've got a notion lately that folks peep and pry. I've seen
footprints around the house."

"Well, why shouldn't they pry and tramp about? The Point's getting
dippy. And that blasted gun of Twombley's! See here, Rivers!"

By this time Larry had lighted the smelly lamp and closed the door and
locked it.

"You're getting nervous and twisted, Rivers."

The two sat down by the paper-strewn table.

"Well, who wouldn't?" snapped Rivers. "Hiding in this junk,
knowing