“I'll get it,” she said. “Come up to your father's bathroom, Sam. Does it hurt much?” “No'm,” he answered truthfully, “it hardly hurts at all.” And having followed her to the bathroom, he insisted, with unusual gentleness, that he be left to apply the arnica to the alleged injuries himself. He was so persuasive that she yielded, and descended to the library, where she found her husband once more at home after his day's work. “Well?” he said. “Did Georgie show up, and were they decent to him?” “Oh, yes; it's all right. Sam and Penrod were good as gold. I saw them being actually cordial to him.” “That's well,” Mr. Williams said, settling into a chair with his paper. “I was a little apprehensive, but I suppose I was mistaken. I walked home, and just now, as I passed Mrs. Bassett's, I saw Doctor Venny's car in front, and that barber from the corner shop on Second Street was going in the door. I couldn't think what a widow would need a barber and a doctor for--especially at the same time. I couldn't think what Georgie'd need such a combination for either, and then I got afraid that maybe--” Mrs. Williams laughed. “Oh, no; it hasn't anything to do with his having been over here. I'm sure they were very nice to him.” “Well, I'm glad of that.” “Yes, indeed--” Mrs. Williams began, when Fanny appeared, summoning her to the telephone. It is pathetically true that Mrs. Williams went to the telephone humming a little song. She was detained at the instrument not more than five minutes; then she made a plunging return into the library, a blanched and stricken woman. She made strange, sinister gestures at her husband. He sprang up, miserably prophetic. “Mrs. Bassett?” “Go to the telephone,” Mrs. Williams said hoarsely “She wants to talk to you, too. She CAN'T talk much--she's hysterical. She says they lured Georgie into the cellar and had him beaten by negroes! That's not all--” Mr. Williams was already on his way. “You find Sam!” he commanded, over his shoulder. Mrs. Williams stepped into the front hall. “Sam!” she called, addressing the upper reaches of the stairway. “Sam!” Not even echo answered. “SAM!” A faint clearing of somebody's throat was heard behind her, a sound so modest and unobtrusive it was no more than just audible, and, turning, the mother beheld her son sitting upon the floor in the shadow of the stairs and gazing meditatively at the hatrack. His manner indicated that he wished to produce the impression that he had been sitting there, in this somewhat unusual place and occupation, for a considerable time, but without overhearing anything that went on in the library so close by. “Sam,” she cried, “what have you DONE?” “Well--I guess my legs are all right,” he said gently. “I got the arnica on, so probably they won't hurt any m--” “Stand up!” she said. “Ma'am?” “March into the library!”