|It was in the latter part of September that I first observed the three strangers at the corner table in the public room, though they may have been there before. Afterwards, whenever passing through, I would look for them, and they were noticeable men; the eldest of the three an easy-looking gentleman with an air of commanding and greyish hair and beard; the second, who always sat beside him against the wall, was odd and humorous in his manner and had a look of imperturbable happiness, round faced, smooth-shaven, with straight hair and rather long, thin lips sticking out when something amused him, a well-muscled, large-framed man; the third stranger always sat opposite the others, with his back and square, slender shoulders to the rest of the room. And when all three men were there, the first two seemed to talk to the third loudly and genially; but sometimes these two came alone, and then they talked to each other and were more quiet. One afternoon I stood within the door that led from the long verandah to the hall and floor above, the door of the public close beside it; and my father was asleep in his chair far at the other end of the verandah. I heard the three strangers come to the door of the public, heard the third say good-by, not two yards from my ear, and go down the steps briskly. And in a moment the elder stranger spoke thus in a drawling way: “He's close, Dan, he is. He takes a man's confidence like it belonged to him natchully, but he don't appear to have any opinion on it. Hey?” “Folks are diff'ent, cap,” said the other blandly. “You don' expect a te'apin to open hisself. He can't 'ithout bustin', an' he may be a very good sort of te'apin an' a warm-hearted te'apin. An' another man comes along whoopin', 'How d'ye do! Here's me. Who are you?' like he couldn't help his candor, Ever hear o' the snake in the gyarden o' Eden, cap? He was very co'dial, that snake.” “Still,” said the first, “I shan't open on him till the time comes, He can have his choice then.” “As how, cap?” “Not here. Offshore.” With that they went down the steps also. My father woke with the noise, and they nodded to him pleasantly. After a time Tony, the waiter in the public, came out and winked at me wonderfully. “Those fellies is fittin' a ship,” he said. “Say, she's jus' goin' in der navvy yard. Say, I hear 'em tell she's a keener.” My father only gazed down the slip with absent, pathetic eyes, thinking, as always, those September days, of what was slipping away from us in the white-curtained room above that looked out on the garden.