When it began to darken up for evening I told Mrs. Galway I was expecting a gentleman caller and asked for the loan of the parlor. She’s a great one for love affairs and it always discouraged her that I had no regular company. Now she thought I’d got a steady at last and wanted to lend me her cameo pin, and decked up the parlor as if the minister was coming to call, with the hand-painted leather cushion and the punch-work tablecloth. Long before Babbitts was due I was sitting by the stove, burning bright and clear, with the drop light throwing a glow over the center table. Upstairs I could hear Mrs. Galway tramping round as she went to bed, which was considerate of her as she was something of a night bird. When I heard his knock at the side door, I gave a sort of squeal of excitement and ran to let him in. "Well?" I said, grabbing his arm, too worked up to say good evening, "has he confessed?" "Yes," he said, "he has and he’s told an uncommon queer story." "He killed her?" "That’s the queerest part of it," said Babbitts slowly, "he didn’t." XIV Now I don’t believe if I gave you twenty guesses you’d know what I did when I heard those words—burst out crying. It wasn’t because I wanted Cokesbury to be executed; it wasn’t because I wanted the reward; it wasn’t even that I was so crazy to have Jack Reddy exonerated—it was just because I was so disappointed—so _foiled_—that I couldn’t seem to bear it. I cried so hard I didn’t know what I was doing, and I suppose that’s the reason I leaned on Babbitts’ shoulder, it being the nearest thing handy. He brought me to my senses, patting me on the arm and saying sort of soothing as if he was comforting a child who’d broken her doll: "There, there—don’t cry—it’ll be all right soon. We’ll get the right man. Don’t take it to heart that way." Then I began to laugh, for it did seem so comical—me crying because Cokesbury wasn’t a murderer, and Babbitts telling me not to take it to heart as if I’d been disappointed in not seeing the electrocution. The laughter and tears got mixed up together and I don’t know where I’d have landed if I hadn’t seen he was getting frightened and wanted to call Mrs. Galway. That pulled me up, and I got a hold on myself. In a few minutes we were sitting side by side in front of the stove, the storm over, all but a little hiccupy kind of sob, that came upon me unexpected at intervals. For the next hour we sat there without moving while Babbitts told me Cokesbury’s story. I’ll put down what he said as near his words as I can remember it. The way he told it was better than any of the newspaper accounts, even his, though he got a raise of salary for the way he’d handled it: