Once or twice Frank tried to open a conversation with his companion, but received such short replies that he gave up and shrank back in the corner of the seat in miserable silence. After nearly an hour, Whitley brought the horse to a standstill, and jumping out of the buggy, began to unhitch. Against the dark sky, Frank could see the shadowy outlines of a house and barn. "Where are we?" he asked. "At my place, nine miles south of town," Whitley answered. "Help me put up the horse, can't you?" Frank obeyed. "No, don't take the harness off," said Jim again; "you'll want him before long." And then he led the way to the house. Taking a key from its hiding place beneath one corner of the step, he unlocked the door and entered; and while Frank stood shivering with the cold and wet, found a lamp and made a light. The room where they stood was well carpeted and furnished, and upon the table were the remains of a meal, together with empty bottles and glasses, and lying on the chair was a woman's glove. Frank looked around curiously. He had heard rumors of Whitley's place in the country, but this was his first visit. "Well," said Jim shortly, "sit down while I build a fire and get something to drink; things are not very gay here to-night, but we'll do the best we can." When the room was warm and they had removed their wraps and outer clothing, and Jim had partaken freely from a supply of liquor on the sideboard, he stretched himself in an easy chair and spoke more pleasantly. "Well, I suppose you are ready to pay those notes, with the interest." Frank moved uneasily. "You know I can't," he muttered. "I thought from your letter, that we might make other arrangements. Amy, you know, might come.--" "Oh, cut that out," interrupted Whitley, with an oath; "your esteemed sister is out of this deal for good." Then, as he lit his cigar, "We might fix things in another way though, if you only had the nerve." "How?" asked Frank, eagerly. "That printer of Udell's has some papers in his possession that I want. Get them for me and I'll turn over your notes and call it square." Frank looked at his companion in wonder. "What do you mean?" he said at last. "Just what I say. Can't you hear?" "But how does that tramp happen to have any papers of value to you?" "That is, most emphatically, none of your business, my friend. All you have to do is to get them, or--" he paused significantly. "But will he give them up?" Whitley looked at him a few minutes in amused contempt, then said, mockingly, "Oh yes; of course he will be glad to favor us. All you need to do is to put on your best Sunday School manners and say sweetly: 'Mr. Falkner, Mr. Whitley would like those papers that you have in the long leather pocket-book tied with a shoe-string.' He'll hand them over instantly. The only reason I have taken all this trouble to meet you out here to-night is because I am naturally easily embarrassed and don't like to ask him for them myself."