"Why, Sam, my boy," he would say, "your honor is at stake." "I would as soon kill him as eat," Sam answered. "But what good would that do me? She cares no more for me than she does for you." Offitt was sitting alone in his room one afternoon; his eyes were staring blankly at the opposite wall; his clinched hands were cold as ice. He had been sitting in that way motionless for an hour, a prey to a terrible excitement. It had come about in this way. He had met in one of the shops he frequented a machinist who rented one of Farnham's houses. Offitt had asked him at noon-time to come out and drink a glass of beer with him. The man complied, and was especially careful to bring his waistcoat with him, saying with a laugh, "I lose my shelter if I lose that." "What do you mean?" asked Offitt. "I've got a quarter's rent in there for Cap. Farnham." "Why are you carrying it around all day?" "Well, you know, Farnham is a good sort of fellow, and to keep us from losing time he lets us come to his house in the evening, after working hours, on quarter-day, instead of going to his office in the day-time. You see, I trot up there after supper and get rid of this wad." Offitt's eyes twinkled like those of an adder. "How many of you do this?" "Oh, a good many,--most everybody in our ward and some in the Nineteenth." "A good bit of money?" said Offitt carelessly, though his mouth worked nervously. "You bet your boots! If I had all the cash he takes in to-night, I'd buy an island and shoot the machine business. Well, I must be gettin' back. So long." Offitt had walked directly home after this conversation, looking neither to the right nor the left, like a man asleep. He had gone to his room, locked his door behind him, and sat down upon the edge of his bed and given himself up to an eager dream of crime. His heart beat, now fast, now slow; a cold sweat enveloped him; he felt from time to time half suffocated. Suddenly he heard a loud knocking at his door--not as if made by the hand, but as if some one were hammering. He started and gasped with a choking rattle in his throat. His eyes seemed straining from their sockets. He opened his lips, but no sound came forth. The sharp rapping was repeated, once and again. He made no answer. Then a loud voice said: "Hello, Andy, you asleep?" He threw himself back on his pillow and said yawningly, "Yes. That you, Sam? Why don't you come in?" "'Cause the door's locked." He rose and let Sleeny in; then threw himself back on the bed, stretching and gaping. "What did you make that infernal racket with?" "My new hammer," said Sam. "I just bought it to day. Lost my old one the night we give Farnham the shiveree." "Lemme see it." Offitt took it in his hand and balanced and tested it. "Pretty good hammer. Handle's a leetle thick, but--pretty good hammer." "Ought to be," said Sam. "Paid enough for it." "Where d'you get it?" "Ware & Harden's."