It was eight-thirty by the Ducats' kitchen clock when Melchior Hammond departed to return to his tethered mare four miles off and continue on his interrupted way toward Bird's Corner. It was ten by the same clock when Jim Todhunter left the Ducat kitchen, after cordial handshakes all around and a promise to return on the morrow or the day after, and set out briskly for Millbrook. He walked at his best pace, in a pleasant humor with himself and the world. He approved of Piper's Glen. Flora Ducat was a charming girl. He had enjoyed his evening and his fight with Mark Ducat. He liked Mark and all the Ducats. He reached the Hammond residence on the stroke of twelve, midnight, and found the front door unlocked. Amos Hammond was as mild of manner as a lamb next morning at breakfast. Jim made no pretense of working in the store that day or of inquiring into any branch of Hammond's business. Amos Hammond kept out of Jim's way as much as possible. A week passed, during which period of time Jim made several trips up to Piper's Glen. On the eighth day after his first meeting with the Ducats, he visited them for the fourth time and remained in that hospitable kitchen until eleven o'clock at night. It was past one when he reached Millbrook. The front door was locked, the back door was locked, and he tossed gravel up against Hammond's window until lamplight shone forth. Up went the lower sash with a bang and rattle and the man of the house looked out and down. "The doors are locked," said Jim. "Spawn of the devil!" cried Amos. "Cumberer of the earth! Eater of the bread of idleness and corruption! I warn ye to go away from here! Ye've held me up to derision in the sight of my wife and children, but the Lord is on my side an' I charge ye never to darken my door again!" "Very impressive, but it won't do," replied Jim. "I'm a part of your establishment. I must really insist upon darkening your door again." At that, Mr. Hammond's language fell from the classical to the colloquial. "Beat it!" he screamed. "Get to hell out o' this afore I lose my temper an' pull the triggers." "Triggers?" queried Jim coolly. "Aye, triggers! Two of 'em--an' both standin' at full-cock." "What number shot, if you don't object to my asking?" "Number two, dang ye! An' my fingers is twitchin'!" "All right! Pass out my baggage and I'll go." "Baggage? Ye got no baggage here!" "Boxes, bags, trunks, and so on." "Ye got nothin' in this house! Clear out or I'll be the death o' ye!" "So you've turned my stuff out, have you? Well, that'll save time. Where did you put it?" "There's nothin' of yers on my premises, inside nor out, an' never was; but if ye don't beat it before I count ten there'll be a dead corpse in the yard. Git!"