What a nut that Norton Plummer was, anyway, feedin' me up with his wild tales in the middle of the night! And why didn't he show up? Finally I got restless, and walked out where I could rubber up the trolley track. No sign or sound of a car. Then I looks at my watch again, and figures out it ain't due for twenty minutes or so. Next I strolls across the railroad to look for Plummer. And, just as I'm passin' a big maple tree, out steps this huge party with the whiskers. I nearly jumped out of my puttees. "Eh?" says I gaspy. "Gotta match?" says he. "I--I guess so," says I. I reached as far as I could when I hands him the box, too. He's a whale of a man, tall and bulky. And his whiskers are the bristly kind--straw-colored, I should say. He's wearin' a double-breasted blue coat and a sort of yachtin' cap. Uh-huh! Plummer must have been right. If this gink wasn't a Hun naval officer, then what was he? The ayes had it. He produces a pipe and starts to light up. One match broke, the second had no strikin' head on it, the third just fizzed. "Gr-r-r-r!" says he. Then he starts for the crossin', me trailin' along. I saw he had his eye on Danny's sentry-box, meanin' to get in the lee of it. Even then I didn't have any bright little idea. "Waitin' for the trolley?" I throws out. "What of it?" he growls. "Oh, no offense," says I hasty. "Maybe there are others." He just lets out another grunt, and tries one more match with his face up against the side of the shanty. And then, all in a jump, my bean got into gear. "You might have better luck inside," says I, swingin' open the door invitin'. He don't even say thank you. He ain't one of that kind. For a second or so I thought he wasn't goin' to take any notice; but after one more failure he steps around, inspects the inside of the shanty, and then squeezes himself through the door. At that, he wasn't all the way in, but by the time he had a match goin' I'd got my nerve back. "Ah, take the limit, Cap'n," says I. With that I plants one foot impulsive right where he was widest, gives a quick shove, slams the door shut behind him, and snaps the big padlock through the hasp. "Hey!" he sings out startled. "What the----" "Now, don't get messy, Cap'n," says I. "You're in, ain't you? Smoke up and be happy." "You--you loafer!" he gurgles throaty. "What do you mean?" "Just a playful little prank, Cap," says I. "Don't get excited. You're perfectly safe." Maybe he was. But some folks don't appreciate little attentions like that. The Cap'n starts in bumpin' and thrashin' violent in there, like a pup that's crawled into a drainpipe and got himself stuck. He hammers on the walls with his fists, throws his weight against the door, and tries to kick his way out.