We could all take lessons in philosophy
from such as they. I wish I could do something to help them out of--"
He sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed and pulled his wallet from
his pocket. He set about counting the bills, a calculating frown in
his eyes. Then he stared at the ceiling, summing up. "I'll do it," he
said, after a moment of mental figuring. He told off a half dozen
bills and slipped them into his pocket. The wallet sought its usual
resting place for the night: under a pillow.
He was healthy and he was tired. Two minutes after his head touched
the pillow he was sound asleep, losing consciousness even as he fought
to stay awake in order that he might continue to vex himself with the
extraordinary behavior and statement of Putnam Jones.
He was aroused shortly after midnight by shouts, apparently just
outside his window. A man was calling in a loud voice from the road
below; an instant later he heard a tremendous pounding on the tavern
door.
Springing out of bed, he rushed to the window. There were horses in
front of the house,--several of them,--and men on foot moving like
shadows among them. A shuffling of feet came up to his open window;
the intervening roof shut off his view of the porch and all that was
transpiring.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71