To my relief they pass from hearing, and I feel for my pipe for comfort. Anyway, I never did like Josie Lockwood.... Smoking, I meditate on the astonishing power of personality. Here is Mr. Nathaniel Duncan no more than a fortnight in our midst (the phrase is used callously, as something sacred to country journalism) and, behold! not yet has the town ceased to discuss him. The control he has over the local mind and imagination is certainly wonderful: the more so since he has apparently made no effort to attract attention; rather, I should say, to the contrary. Quiet and unassuming he goes his way, minding his own business as carefully as we would mind it for him, with all the good will in the world, if only we could find out what it is. But we can't leave him alone.... Tracey Tanner interrupts my musings. "Hello!" he twangs, like a tuneless banjo. "'Lo, Tracey." This lofty and blase greeting can come from none other than Roland Barnette. "Where you goin'?" "Over to the railway station." "What for?" "To give you something to talk about. I'm going to send a telegram to a friend of mine in Noo York." "Aw, you ain't the only one can send telegrams. Sam Graham sent one just now." "_He_ did!" "Uh-huh. I was sort of hangin' round, when he came in, and I seen him send it myself." "Sam Graham telegraphing! Do you know; who to, Tracey?" Roland's superiority is wearing thin under contact with his curiosity. This surprising bit of news makes him distinctly more affable and inclined to lower himself to the social level of the son of the livery-stable keeper. As for myself, I am inclined to lean out of the window and call Tracey up, lest he get out of hearing before I hear the rest of it. Fortunately I am not thus obliged to compromise my dignity. The two are at pause. "Gimme a cigarette 'nd I'll tell you," bargains Tracey shrewdly. "Lew Parker told me after Sam'd gone." The deal is put through promptly. "He was telegraphin' to--Got a match?" For once I am in sympathy with Roland, whose tone betrays his desire to wring Tracey's exasperating neck. "Aw, he was only telegraphing to Gresham an' Jones for some sody water syrups." "Where'd he get the money?" There's fine scorn in Roland's comment. "I dunno, but he handed Lew a five-dollar bill to pay for the message." "Well, if Sam Graham's got any money he'd better hold on to it, instead of buying sody-water syrups. I guess Blinky Lockwood'll get after him when he finds it out. He owes Blinky a note at the bank and it's coming due in a day or two and Blinky ain't going to renew, neither." "Sam seemed cheerful 'nough. Anyhow, it ain't my funeral."