Catching up his grip, he moved back his door, peered out to be sure he was not being watched, and tiptoed along the corridor and so on to the floor below. An hour later the porter, aroused by his alarm clock to get ready for the 5.40, found Steve by the stove. He had dragged up another chair and lay stretched out on the two, his head lost in the upturned collar of his coat, his slouch hat pulled down over his eyes. "Why, I thought you'd turned in," yawned the porter, dumping a shovelful of coal into the stove. "Yes, I did, but I couldn't sleep." There was a note in Steve's voice that made the porter raise his eyes. "Ain't sick, are ye?" "No--kind o' nervous--get that way sometimes. Not in your way, am I?" A MEDAL OF HONOR He was short and thick-set: round-bodied--a bulbous round, like an onion--with alternate layers of waistcoats, two generally, the under one of cotton duck showing a selvage of white, and the outer one of velvet or cloth showing a pattern of dots, stripes, or checks, depending on the prevailing style at the wholesale clothier's where he traded, the whole topped by a sprouting green necktie. Outside this waistcoat drooped a heavy gold chain connecting with a biscuit-shaped watch, the under convex of its lid emblazoned with his monogram in high relief, and the upper concave decorated with a photograph of his best girl. The face of this inviting and correctly attired young gentleman was likewise round; the ends of the mouth curving upward, not downward--upward, with a continuous smile in each corner, even when the mouth was shut, as if the laugh inside of him were still tickling his funny-bone and the corners of the mouth were recording the vibrations. These uncontrollable movements connected with other hilarious wriggles puckering with merriment under the pupils of his two keen, searching eyes, bright as the lens of a camera and as sensitive and absorbing. Nothing escaped these eyes--nothing that was worth wasting a plate on. Men and their uses, women and their needs, fellow-travellers with desirable information who were cutting into the bulbous-shaped man's territory, were all focussed by these eyes and deluded by this mouth into giving up their best cash discounts and any other information needed. Some hayseeds might get left, but not Sam Makin. "Well, I guess not! No flies on Samuel! Up and dressed every minute and 'next' every time!" Such was the universal tribute. This knowledge did not end with humans. Sam knew the best train out and in, and the best seat in it; the best hotel in town and the best table in the dining-room, as well as the best dish on the bill of fare--not of one town, but of hundreds all over his territory. That is what he paid for, and that was what he intended to have.