"'Yes.'" "'Are you the man who pulled the sailor out of the wreckage this morning at daybreak?'" "'Yes.'" "'Well, we'd like you to write some little account of----'" "'Well, I ain't got no time.'" "'If we send a reporter down, will you talk to him and----'" "'No, for there ain't nothin' to tell----'" "'You're Halsey, aren't you?'" "'Yes.'" "'Well, we should like to get some of the details; it was a very heroic rescue, and----'" "'Well, there ain't no details and there ain't no heroics. I git paid for what I do, and I done it,'" and he rang off the 'phone. A dead silence followed--one of those uncomfortable silences that often follows a society break precipitating the well-known unpleasant quarter of an hour. This silence lasted only a minute. Then Captain Shortrode remarked calmly and coldly, and, I thought, with a tired feeling in his voice: "Well, what else _could_ he have said?" The fur-coated beast was taken out of camphor, hooked up to the buggy, and the Captain and I ploughed our way back through the snow to the depot, the men standing in the door-way waving their hands Good-by. The next day I wrote this to the Superintendent at headquarters: "These men fear nothing but God!" "OLD SUNSHINE" It was when pulling in his milk one morning that Dalny first made the acquaintance of "Old Sunshine." The cans had become mixed, Dalny's pint having been laid at the old man's door and the old man's gill at Dalny's, and the rectifying of the mistake--"Old Sunshine" did the rectifying--laid the basis of the acquaintance. Everybody, of course, in the Studio Building knew the old man and his old sister by sight, but only one or two well enough to speak to him; none of them to speak to the poor, faded woman, who would climb the stairs so many times a day, always stopping for her breath at the landing, and always with some little package--a pinch of tea, or a loaf of bread, or fragment of chop--which she hid under her apron if she heard anyone's steps. She was younger than her brother by a few years, but there was no mistaking their relationship; their noses were exactly alike--long, semi-transparent noses, protruding between two wistful, china-blue eyes peering from under eyebrows shaded by soft gray hair. The rooms to which the sister climbed, and where the brother worked, were at the top of the building, away up under the corridor skylight, the iron ladder to its trap being bolted to the wall outside their very door. It was sunnier up there, the brother said. One of the rooms he used for his studio, sleeping on a cot behind a screen; the other was occupied by his sister. What little housekeeping was necessary went on behind this door. Outside, on its upper panel, was tacked a card bearing his name: _Adolphe Woolfsen._