Gilbert Allison imagined he would feel better when he knew that Damon Crowley was securely lodged under lock and key; but such was not the case. The knowledge of this only seemed to press some real or imaginary burden closer to him. Then he imagined that he would perhaps feel at peace with the world and himself when white-robed justice had had her perfect course, and the victim of a nation's sin had been hung by the neck until dead. But even the news of the tragic death of the murderer did not prove a cure for his nameless and indefinable ill-feeling. Then it occurred to him that perhaps his name had not been taken from over the doors of the establishment of which he had so long been a part. Being fully resolved to completely sever his connection with the business, he looked upon this as a necessary step, and not without some small hope that it might help a little toward restoring his upset conscience. Turning a corner, he raised his eyes. There, in the glow of the full sunlight, blazed the richly-wrought words, "Allison, Russell & Joy." They looked positively ugly to him and he felt that he had been injured by the other members of the firm. Entering the establishment to request that the sign be altered he came upon a trio discussing trade items, and the old familiar phraseology fell upon his ears like jangling voices. As he passed out an old customer slapped him familiarly on the back and asked after business. Hardly had he escaped this one before another grasped his hand and inquired in jovial manner how times were. Then a drummer approached him, and, on being informed that he was no longer connected with the trade interests, assured him that the trade had suffered a loss. As he halted a moment in front of a hotel, a half-intoxicated man with a tale of woe, because of having been ordered out of the palatial sample room of the late liquor dealer, drew some attention to him and increased his feeling of disquiet and irritability. Each time he informed his assailant that he had severed his connection with the business, but it was not until the red-headed proprietor of a groggery drew nigh with a grievance, that the last straw had been put upon his already overtaxed nerves and conscience. With more than the necessary amount of vigor he declared himself innocent of the business and dropped remarks relative to groggeries that would have delighted the ear of a temperance lecturer. After this series of unpleasant encounters Gilbert Allison betook himself to the office of his friend, Dr. Samuel Thomas, the companion of his memorable ride, for advisement. Entering the room without previous announcement, he dropped his hat onto a promiscuous pile of books and papers and spread himself on the couch. Here, with his hands clasped under his head, he studied the pattern of the ceiling paper a few seconds before venturing a remark. Dr. Sammie, used to moods and fancies, waited.