“Great guns! Bess, you better vent some of that superfluous squeeze on some of the rest of us. See! Mrs. West is still struggling to breathe,” said James, as he placed Bess in her chair at the breakfast table. “Oh, I’m so sorry, little Mother! Did I really hurt you? But I just had to squeeze someone or something; so after this when any of you see me coming with fire in my eye, I give you all fair warning.” They laughed at her strenuosity and good spirits and the coffee was served. “Bess, don’t impress those people that you came from the Bowery,” said her brother, and all through breakfast she tried to recall what she had said or done that should suggest such a thought to James. Breakfast was nearly over when Mrs. West told Henry to go up to the sick man’s room, as Mr. Davis had requested to see him. Henry shot a troubled glance at his mother and said, “I would much rather not go, mother.” “I cannot understand, Henry, why you have taken such a dislike to Mr. Davis; he has always treated us with courtesy and many times has shown us marked consideration. Surely you cannot have forgotten how attentive he always was to Helen—” “Hush, Mother! I will go to him at once. No, I have not forgotten anything,—and pray you may never understand,” he added in a whisper. He arose abruptly from his chair and quitted the room before he had finished speaking, so the last words reached the ears of Bess alone. She watched the man, and thought of his words the day before when she told him that she knew Mr. Davis. As he had not asked how nor where she had known him, she thought perhaps James had explained. Henry West knocked softly at the door of Mr. Davis’ room and entered at a faint “come in.” He could not help feeling a twinge of pity as he saw the pallid brow and hands of the helpless man, and yet his very presence filled him with ever-increasing hatred and contempt. He put his hand to his throat as if his collar were choking him, as he said in a husky voice: “You sent for me, Mr. Davis. Of what service can I be to you?” He could scarcely catch the faint words that came from the injured man’s lips, and going nearer, bent over that he might hear what Davis was saying. “Will you send one of my policemen here, West? There are several important matters which I must see about today.” The Indian agent spoke with effort. “I fear you are not strong enough to see anyone yet,” Henry suggested kindly. The man glared at him and hotly said, “Oh, hell! Yes, I am! All that hurts is my ankle, and I don’t have to talk with that.” With an abrupt, “Very well, sir,” West moved towards the door. “Say, West,” said Davis, raising his voice; “I know you didn’t give me that help yesterday because you love me,” with a slight sneer,—“but I thank you just the same.”