He went out.
Hannibal felt very lonely and fidgety.
"I think I'll just mail that letter and get it off my mind," he said.
He put on his hat, licked a stamp, and crossed to his brother's desk. The letter was there, right enough, but it did not require a stamp, for on it was written but one word, and that word was Hannibal.
Hannibal tore open the envelop and read:
Dear Old Bul: I can't stand it any longer, but you'll try and not be mad with me for running off and leaving you to keep up the old place alone, and damn it, Bul, two of us ought to go anyway. . . .
The letter ran on for a little in the same strain. Hannibal put the letter in his pocket, and sat down at his brother's desk.
"It will kill the old man if we all go," he said. "And of all three I'm the one with the best rights to go and get shot."
He took from somewhere in his clothes a little gold locket, flat and plain. Each of the St. John boys had carried one since
