“Um um um um,” responded the woman, from her half closed mouth. “I beg your pardon,” said Tom, “but I don’t quite understand.” Another mumble followed, as the woman right about faced and walked into the house. Tom cast a comical look at us. “That’s what comes of not learning the language of the country you’re going into,” he called, in a loud aside. “I can talk German, French or Italian, read Latin and make a try at Greek, but I never studied a word of Clothespin.” As he ended, the woman reappeared, still grasping the garment for the line, but holding out as well two ponderous iron keys. Tom took them and turned to us, simply remarking, “We’ll look the place over.” Loft, stalls and cellar of the stable offered us nothing, nor did we get more from the windows with their view of littered yards. The old farrier’s shop looked better. Tom thrust the ponderous key into the lock and threw back the heavy door. Right where the sun cast its gleam down the dusty floor lay a little pile of painted boards. I sprang forward. “Sliced animals,” I called to the others, as I brought the six or seven old boards forward and began fitting them into place. I had them sorted and arranged in a trice. Bruised as they were by their fall, the three horses’ heads on the sign board still showed clear, though the dimming effect of time had dulled the flaring tints of the rude artist. “Not a nail in it or a bit of iron, though there were six nail holes to every board. This can’t be another wood-box hinge case,” I remarked. As we all bent eagerly over the sign, a voice broke in on us. “That sign nearly cost us a pretty penny.” We straightened up quickly. In the doorway stood a stout, red-whiskered man. “I’m the agent for the property,” he said, “I heard you were looking it over, so I came across. We’re ready to put it in good shape for any desirable tenant. There’s few better stable properties in the Chelsea mews.” “Really,” said Tom, “I’m not sure whether this will meet my needs or not. We’ve just been looking things over and came upon this sign. It must have received a pretty severe blow, for every screw is out of it.” “Well, sir,” said the agent eagerly, “that’s the very strangest thing I ever saw. I saw the sign go down,--I was just across the yard here in that corner, and I happened to be looking out through the archway. There was no wind, not a breath of air stirring, and yet, all of a sudden, the old sign tumbled. A man had gone by not a minute before. It might just as well hit him as not, or hit me, for that matter. And the pole that held it, and the nails and hinges and everything must have flown out of it when it struck. Least, I don’t see what else could have happened to ’em. They weren’t there when I came along, and they were good iron, too. I looked that sign over, myself, inside of two months, to make sure things were all right.” Our voluble friend stopped for breath. As Tom addressed him, I spoke in an aside to Dorothy.