"Say, Enid," he said hesitatingly. "These reporters--the New York chaps--the local men wouldn't dare ask--want an interview. What do you say?" Mrs. Balfame merely turned her haughty head and regarded him with icy disdain. "Are they crazy? Or you?" "Well, not the way they look at it. You see, it's up to them to fill a column or two every morning, and there's nothing touches a new crime with a mystery. So far, they haven't got much out of this but the bare fact that poor Dave was shot down at his own gate, presumably by some one hid in the grove. An interview with the bereaved widow would make what they call a corking story." "Tell them to go away at once." She leaned back against her chair and closed her eyes. Mrs. Gifning flew to hold the salts to her nose. "Better see them," persisted Mr. Cummack. "They'll haunt the house till you do. They're crazy about this case--hasn't been a decent murder for months, nothin' much doin' in any line, and everybody sick of the war. The Germans take a trench in the morning papers and lose it in the evening--" "Sam Cummack! How dare you joke at a time like this?" His wife ran forward and attempted to push him out of the room, and the other ladies had risen and faced him with manifest indignation. Suddenly Mrs. Cummack put her arms about him and patted the top of his head. He had burst into tears and was rubbing his eyes on his sleeve. "Poor old Dave!" he sobbed. "I'm all in. But I'll find that low-down cur who killed him, cut him off in his prime, if it takes the last cent I've got." Mrs. Balfame rose and crossed to his side. She put her hand on his shoulder. "I never should have suspected that you had such depth of feeling, Sam," she said softly, "I am sure that the cowardly murderer will be caught and that yours will be the glory. Send those inconsiderate reporters away." Mr. Cummack shook his head. "As well talk of calling off the police. They'll be round here day and night till the man is in Dobton jail--longer, for they know the public will want an interview with the widow. Better see them, Enid." "I shall not." Mrs. Balfame put her hand to her head and reeled. "Oh, I am so tired! So tired! What a day. Oh, how I wish Anna were here." Three of the women caught her and led her to her chair. "Anna!" she reiterated. "I must have something to make me sleep--" "I'll call her up!" volunteered Mrs. Gifning. "I do hope she is at home--" "She was to go out to the Houston farm," interrupted Mrs. Cummack. "She stopped at our house on the way out--Sammy has bronchitis--"; and Mrs. Gifning, who was as nervous as the widow should have been, ran down to the telephone, elated at being the one chosen to horrify poor Dr. Anna while engaged in the everlasting battle for life. "I'll stay with Enid till Anna comes," volunteered Mrs. Cummack. "I guess she'd better be quiet. One of you might make coffee for those that are going to sit up--"