Halfway down the next block it almost came to a halt again when opposite a dark and dingy driveway that led in between, and to the rear of, two poverty-stricken frame houses. Hawkins stared at this uninviting prospect, and made as though to turn the car into the driveway; then, shaking his head heavily, he continued on along the street. “I can't go in there and sit by myself all alone,” said Hawkins hoarsely. “I--I'd go mad. It's--it's like as though they'd told me to-night that she'd died--same as they told me about her mother the night I went to Paul's.” The car moved slowly onward. It turned the next corner--and the next. It almost completed the circuit of the block. Hawkins now was wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. His hands on the wheel were trembling. The car had stopped. Hawkins was staring again at the lighted windows and the swinging doors of the saloon. He sat for a long time motionless; then he climbed down from his seat. “Just one,” Hawkins whispered to himself. “Just one. I--I'd go mad if I didn't.” Hawkins pushed the swinging doors open, and sidled up to the bar. “Hello, Hawkins!” grinned the barkeeper. “Been out of town? I ain't seen you the whole afternoon!” “You mind your own business!” said Hawkins surlily. “Sure!” nodded the barkeeper cheerily. “Same as usual?” He slid a square-faced bottle and a glass toward the old man. Hawkins helped himself and drank moodily. He set his empty glass back on the bar, jerked down his shabby vest and straightened up, his eyes resolutely fixed on the door. Then he felt in his pocket for his pipe and tobacco. His eyes shifted from the door to his pipe. He filled it slowly. “Give me another,” said Hawkins presently--without looking at the barkeeper. Again the old man drank, and jerked down his vest, and squared his thin shoulders. He lighted his pipe, tamping the bowl carefully with his forefinger. His eyes sought the swinging doors once more. “I'm going home,” said Hawkins defiantly to himself. “I've got to think this out.” He dug into his vest pocket for money, and produced a few small bills. He stared at these for a moment, hesitated, started to replace them in his pocket, hesitated again, and the tip of his tongue circled his lips; then he pushed the money across the bar. “Take the drinks out of that, and--and give me a bottle,” he said. “I--I don't like to be without anything in the house, and I got to go home.” “You said something!” said the barkeeper. “Have one on the house before you go?” “No; I won't.” “No,” said Hawkins with stern determination.