CHAPTER III
WHAT THE BUTLER TOLD
WHEN Smith opened his eyes the next morn- ing, it was to see Willis padding about the room with stealthy tread, as he gathered to- gether the clothes he had thrown off the night before.
For some minutes he lay watching through half- closed eyes. The old man shook his head sadly as he noted the torn and dilapidated condition of Smith's dis- carded clothing. When, however, he picked up the boots, sodden and encrusted with mud, he blinked sev- eral times, as if striving to keep back the tears.
Having gathered together the various items of Smith's rain-soaked apparel and placed them on a chair by the door, the butler glanced at the clock, the hands of which pointed to ten minutes past eight. Tip-toeing over to the bed, he stood for a moment gazing down at the apparently sleeping man.
"Mr. Alfred, sir," he whispered, "it's ten minutes past eight."
"So it isn't a dream after all," yawned Smith, as he sat up and proceeded to stretch luxuriously.
"A dream, Mr. Alfred?" repeated Willis.
"Yes, that I'm here. I thought it was a dream, you know," and he laughed, a little self-consciously. Willis smiled sympathetically. "It's almost too good to be true, Mr. Alfred," he said. "I'm sorry to wake you, sir. I've put everything ready," he indicated the clothes.
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