Two, three, five minutes passed, and Danny O'Flannigan had not come out. Jim hitched about on his narrow perch, and sent furtive glances across the expanse of yard to his own door. Six, seven, ten minutes passed; Jim's throat grew dry, and his fingers cold at their tips. His eyes had long ago ceased to look at Bob; they were fixed in growing horror on that closed door, behind which were dad--and that man. Eleven, thirteen, fifteen minutes passed. "I--I'm goin' in now," faltered Jim. "I--I reckon I don't feel well," he finished thickly, as he slipped to the ground and walked unsteadily across the yard. In the woodshed he stopped short at the kitchen door. A murmur of voices came from far inside, and Jim's knees shook beneath him--it was not so--it could not be possible that dad was _still_ talking! Jim stole through the back hallway and out on to the grass beneath the sitting-room windows on the other side of the house. The voices were louder now--the visitor's very loud. Jim raised his head and tried to smile. Of course!--dad was sending him about his business, and the man was angry--that was it. It had taken longer than he thought, but dad--dad never did like to hurt folks' feelings. Some men--some men did not care how they talked; but not dad. Why, dad--dad did not even like to kill a mouse; he-- There came the sound of a laugh--a long, ringing laugh with a gleeful chuckle at the end. Jim grew faint. That was--_dad_! Ten seconds later the two men in the sitting-room were confronted by a white-faced, shaking boy. "Maybe you did n't know, Mr. O'Flannigan," began Jim eagerly, "maybe you did n't know that dad don't speak sharp. He ain't much for hurtin' folks' feelings; but he means it just the same--that he won't do what you want him to do. He's square and straight--dad is, an' he don't dodge; but maybe you thought 'cause he laughed that he was easy--but he ain't. Why, dad would n't--" "Tut, tut, not so fast, my boy," cut in Danny O'Flannigan pompously. "Your father has already--" A strong hand gripped O'Flannigan's shoulder, and an agonized pair of eyes arrested his words. "For God's sake, man," muttered Barlow, "have you no mercy? Think--have you no son of your own that believes you 're almost--God Himself?" For a brief instant Danny O'Flannigan's eyebrows and shoulders rose in an expressive gesture, and his hands made a disdainful sweep; then his eyes softened strangely. "As you please," he said, and reached for his hat with an air that was meant to show indifference. "Then the deal is off, I suppose." "There!" crowed Jim, as the door clicked behind the checkered trousers. "There, I knew you'd do it, dad. Just as if-- Why, dad, you 're--_cryin_'! Pooh! who cares for Danny O'Flannigan?" he soothed, patting the broad shoulders bowed low over the table. "I would n't cry for him!" Millionaire Mike's Thanksgiving