Moreover, it distressed me on account of the old expressman, who, I was afraid, might notice it. However, he went humming tranquilly on, and gave no sign; and for this I was grateful. Grateful, yes, but still uneasy; and soon I began to feel more and more uneasy every minute, for every minute that went by that odor thickened up the more, and got to be more and more gamy and hard to stand. Presently, having got things arranged to his satisfaction, the expressman got some wood and made up a tremendous fire in his stove. This distressed me more than I can tell, for I could not but feel that it was a mistake. I was sure that the effect would be deleterious upon my poor departed friend. Thompson—the expressman’s name was Thompson, as I found out in the course of the night—now went poking around his car, stopping up whatever stray cracks he could find, remarking that it didn’t make any difference what kind of a night it was outside, he calculated to make _us_ comfortable, anyway. I said nothing, but I believed he was not choosing the right way. Meantime he was humming to himself just as before; and meantime, too, the stove was getting hotter and hotter, and the place closer and closer. I felt myself growing pale and qualmish, but grieved in silence and said nothing. Soon I noticed that the “Sweet By and By” was gradually fading out; next it ceased altogether, and there was an ominous stillness. After a few moments Thompson said,— “Pfew! I reckon it ain’t no cinnamon ’t I’ve loaded up thish-yer stove with!” He gasped once or twice, then moved toward the cof—gun-box, stood over that Limburger cheese part of a moment, then came back and sat down near me, looking a good deal impressed. After a contemplative pause, he said, indicating the box with a gesture,— “Friend of yourn?” “Yes,” I said with a sigh. “He’s pretty ripe, _ain’t_ he!” Nothing further was said for perhaps a couple of minutes, each being busy with his own thoughts; then Thompson said, in a low, awed voice,— “Sometimes it’s uncertain whether they’re really gone or not,—_seem_ gone, you know—body warm, joints limber—and so, although you _think_ they’re gone, you don’t really know. I’ve had cases in my car. It’s perfectly awful, becuz _you_ don’t know what minute they’ll rise up and look at you!” Then, after a pause, and slightly lifting his elbow toward the box,— “But _he_ ain’t in no trance! No, sir, I go bail for _him_!” We sat some time, in meditative silence, listening to the wind and the roar of the train; then Thompson said, with a good deal of feeling,—