"Glad to hear that," returned Thomas. The man passed him, walking as if he were vainly trying to straighten himself at every step. He held his knees stiff and threw his elbows back, but his back still curved pitifully, although it seemed as if he were half cheating himself into the belief that he was walking as straight as other men. Thomas walked on rapidly, lessening the distance between himself and Barney. As he went on he began to have a curious fancy, which he could hardly persuade himself was a fancy. It seemed to him that Barney Thayer was walking like the man whom he had just met, that his back had that same terrible curve. Thomas Payne stared in strange bewilderment at Barney's back. "It can't be that he has spine disease, that he has got hurt in any way," he thought to himself. The purpose with which he had started out rather paled in his mind. He walked more rapidly. It certainly seemed to him that Barney's back was bent. He got within hailing distance and called out. "Hallo!" cried Thomas Payne. Barney turned around, and it seemed as if he turned with the feeble, crooked motion of the other man. He saw Thomas Payne, and his face was ghastly white, but he stood still and waited. "How are you?" Thomas said, gruffly, as he came up. "How are you, Thomas?" returned Barney. He looked at Thomas with a dogged expectancy. He thought he was going to tell him that he was to marry Charlotte. But Thomas was surveying him still in that strange bewilderment. "Look here, Barney," said he, bluntly, "have you been sick? I haven't heard of it." "No, I haven't," replied Barney, wonderingly. Thomas's eyes were fixed upon his back. "I didn't know but you had got hurt or something," said he. Barney shook his head. Thomas thought to himself that his back was certainly curved. "I guess I'll walk along with you a little way," said he; "I've got something I wanted to say. For God's sake, Barney, you are sick!" "No, I ain't sick." "You are white as death." "There's nothing the matter with me," Barney half gasped. He turned and walked on, and his back still bent like a bow to Thomas Payne's eyes. Thomas went on silently until they had passed a house just beyond. Then he stopped again. "Look here, Barney," said he. "Well," said Barney. He stopped, but he did not turn or face Thomas. He only presented to him that curved, or semblance of a curved, back. "I want to speak to you about Charlotte Barnard," said Thomas Payne, abruptly. Barney waited without a word. "I suppose you'll think it's none of my business, and in one way it isn't," said Thomas, "but I am going to say it for her sake; I have made up my mind to. It seems to me it's time, if anybody cares anything about her. What are you treating Charlotte Barnard so for, Barnabas Thayer? It's time you gave an account to somebody, and you can give it to me." Barney did not answer. "Speak, you miserable coward!" shouted Thomas Payne, with a sudden threatening motion of his right arm.