The night was cold and damp, and rain was falling when the door closed behind him. He heard it descending steadily throughout the evening, and more than once the continuance of the downpour was commented upon by some member of the company. When the guests separated for the night and Latimer turned into the street again, he had scarcely walked five yards before hearing a cough; he cast a glance over his shoulder and saw the small man in blue jeans. The jeans were wet and water was dropping from the brim of the old felt hat. The idea which at once possessed his mind was that for some mysterious reason best known to himself the wearer had been waiting for and was following him. What was it for? He turned about suddenly and faced the person who seemed so unduly interested in his actions. "Do you want to speak to me?" he demanded. This movement, being abrupt, rather upset Mr. Stamps's calculations. He came to a standstill, looking surprised and nervous. "Thar ain't no harm done," he said. "I aimed to find out whar ye lived." "Have you been waiting for me to come out of the house?" asked Latimer, feeling some curiosity. Stamps admitted that he had, the admission being somewhat reluctant, as if he felt it might commit him to something. Having so far betrayed himself, however, he drew something nearer, with a suggestion of stealthiness. "Ye're mighty like a man I once knowed," he said. "Yer powerful like him. I never seed two men more liker each other." "Where did he live when you knew him?" Latimer enquired, the wretched, dank little figure suddenly assuming the haunting air of something his eye must have rested on before. "I seen him in North Ca'llina. He did not live thar--in the way other folks did. He was jest stayin'. I won't keep ye standin' in the rain," insinuatingly. "I'll jest walk along by ye." Latimer walked on. This dragged him back again, as other things had done once or twice. He did not speak, but strode on almost too rapidly for Stamps's short legs. The short legs began to trot, and their owner to continue his explanations rather breathlessly. "He warn't livin' thar same as other folks," he said. "Thar was suthin' curi's about him. Nobody knowed nothin' about him, an' nobody knew nothin' about his wife. Now I come to think of it, nobody ever knowed his name--but me." "Did he tell it to you?" said Latimer, rigidly. "No," with something verging on a chuckle, discreetly strangled at its birth. "Neither him nor his wife was tellin' things just then. They was layin' mighty low. She died when her child was borned, an' he lit out right away an' ain't never been heern tell of since." Latimer said nothing. The rain began to fall more heavily, and Mr. Stamps trotted on. "'Lowin' for store clothes an' agein'," he continued, "I never seen two fellers favour each other as you two do. An' his name bein' the same as yourn, makes it curi'ser still." "You are getting very wet," was Latimer's sole comment.