“Oh, it was that old brown-complected fellow,” said the carpenter. “That old Bohunk guy with the big rings in his ears.” Reivers came to the shop at his customary time in the evening, nothing in his manner containing a hint that anything unusual had happened during the day. He found a solemn and silent pair, for Campbell had sought relief from the day’s tragedy in his customary manner and sat in the light of the student-lamp steadily reading his Bible, while Toppy, in a dark corner, sat with his great shoulders hunched forward, his folded hands before him, and stared at the floor. Reivers paused in the doorway, his cold smile broadening as he surveyed the pair. “Poker to-night—doctor?” he said softly, and the slur in his tones was like blasphemy toward all that men hold sacred. “No, by ——, no!” growled Toppy. Laughing lightly, Reivers closed the door and came across the room. “What? Aren’t you going to give me my revenge—doctor?” The manner in which he accented “doctor” was worse than an open insult. Old Campbell peered over his thick glasses. “The sword of judgment is sharpening for you, Mr. Reivers,” he said solemnly. “You ha’ this day sealed your own doom. A life for a life; and you have taken a life to-day unnecessarily. It is the holy law; you will pay. It is so written.” “Yes, yes, yes!” laughed Reivers in great amusement. “But you’ve said that so many times before in just that same way, Scotty. Can’t you evolve a new idea? Or at least sing it in a different key?” The old Scot looked at him without wavering or changing his expression. “You are the smartest man I have ever known, Mr. Reivers, and the domdest fool,” he said in the same tone. “Do you fancy yourself more than mortal? Losh, man! A knife in the bowels, or a bullet or ax in the head will as readily make you a bit of poor clay as you’ve this day made yon poor old Bohunk.” Reivers listened courteously to the end, waiting even a moment to be sure that Campbell had had his say. “And you—doctor?” he said turning to Toppy. “What melancholy thoughts have you to utter?” Toppy said nothing. “Oh, come, Treplin!” said Reivers lightly. “Surely you’re not letting a little thing like that quarry-incident give you a bad evening? Where’s your philosophy, man? Consider the thing intelligently instead of sentimentally. There was so much rock to go into that dam in a day—and incidentally to-day finished the job. That was a useful, necessary work. “For that old man to continue in this life was not useful or necessary. He was far down in the order of human development; centuries below you and me. Do you think it made the slightest difference whether he returned to the old cosmic mud whence he came, and from which he had not come far, in to-day’s little cave-in, or in a dirty bed, say ten years from now?