Hoag passed on into the house and through the hall into his own chamber. Here the air seemed oppressively warm, the plastered walls giving out heat as from the closed door of a furnace. Throwing off his coat, he sat down before a window. Such a maze and multiplicity of thoughts had never before beset his brain. The incidents of his life, small and large, marched past with the regularity of soldiers. How strange that Sid Trawley's face, ablaze with its new light, should emerge so frequently from amid the others! How odd that he should recall Paul Rundel's notion of giving himself up to the law and suffering the consequences of his supposed crime! And the effect on both men had been astounding. Sid had nothing to fear, and to Paul all good things were falling as naturally as rain from clouds. Then there was Henry, who had suddenly turned about and was making a man of himself. At this moment a childish voice was heard singing a plantation melody. It was Jack at play on the lawn. Hoag leaned from the window and saw the boy, with hammer and nails, mending a toy wagon. Paul Rundel was entering the gate. Hoag noted the puckered lips of his manager and heard his merry whistle. He saw him pause, tenderly stroke Jack's waving curls, and smile. Who had ever seen a face more thoroughly at peace than this young man's--a smile more spontaneous? Hoag went to the front door and stood waiting for Paul to approach. The terror within him suggested that the young man might bring fresh news concerning the things he so much dreaded. “Be careful, Jack,” Paul was advising the boy. “If you start to coast down a steep hill in that thing you might not be able to guide it, and--zip! against a tree or stump you'd go, an' we'd have to fish you out among the splinters.” This was followed by some low-spoken directions from Paul, in which the listener on the veranda caught the words, “friction,” “nuts and bolts,” “lubricating oil,” and “electric motor.” Then the young man turned, and seeing Hoag he came on. There was a triumphant beam in his eye, an eager flush in his cheeks, as he approached the steps. “Glad you are at home,” he began. “I was going to look you up the first thing.” “Did you want to--see me about--I mean--” “Yes, I've landed that thing at last--put it through.” “You say you've--” Hoag's thoughts were widely scattered. “You say--” “Why, the shingle contract, you remember.” Paul stared wonderingly. “You know you were afraid the Louisville parties would not sign up at my price, but they have. They take ten car-loads of pine stock at that figure and give us two years to fill the order. But have you”--Paul was studying the man's face--“have you changed your mind? Yesterday you thought--” “Oh, it's all right--it's splendid!” Hoag's voice was lifeless; he looked away with the fixed stare of a somnambulist; he wiped his brow with his broad hand and dried it on his trousers. “You say they take five cars?”