When I finished, she shook her head slowly, as if quite dumfounded, and altered her position, leaning against the back of the bench and gazing straight before her without speaking. It was plain that her neighbor's extraordinary behavior had revealed a phase of his character novel enough to be startling. “One explanation might be just barely possible,” I said. “If it is, it is the most remarkable case of somnambulism on record. Did you ever hear of Mr. Beasley's walking in his--” She touched me lightly but peremptorily on the arm in warning, and I stopped. On the other side of the board fence a door opened creakily, and there sounded a loud and cheerful voice--that of the gentleman in the dressing-gown. “HERE we come!” it said; “me and big Bill Hammersley. I want to show Bill I can jump ANYWAYS three times as far as he can! Come on, Bill.” “Is that Mr. Beasley's voice?” I asked, under my breath. Miss Apperthwaite nodded in affirmation. “Could he have heard me?” “No,” she whispered. “He's just come out of the house.” And then to herself, “Who under heaven is Bill Hammersley? I never heard of HIM!” “Of course, Bill,” said the voice beyond the fence, “if you're afraid I'll beat you TOO badly, you've still got time to back out. I did understand you to kind of hint that you were considerable of a jumper, but if--What? What'd you say, Bill?” There ensued a moment's complete silence. “Oh, all right,” the voice then continued. “You say you're in this to win, do you? Well, so'm I, Bill Hammersley; so'm I. Who'll go first? Me? All right--from the edge of the walk here. Now then! One--two--three! HA!”