ent sort." He turned on Galbraith as he said it, measuring him from his light hair to his patched shoes.
"Of a different sort, and I am not wanting in skill, they say."
Dallas was silent; for the first time, the sharp-eyed little Tim beside him noted that he began to share in his own uneasy scrutiny of the stranger. He drew back a step, and jealously locked the door of his closet, keeping a furtive glance on Ledwith, who smiled unpleasantly, stroking his fat chin with his white hand.
"I won't disturb thy little make-shifts, my lad. Come out. It's thee I have business with." But he waited patiently, with a real interest in his flabby features, while Dallas carefully replaced some bits of ore that had fallen on the floor.
"Now, some men in my trade would call thy hobby tomfoolery; but I had a leaning that way once myself, as I told thee," complacently. "I went through college. I can see thee is one of them men that was born for no other use than to dig into them matters. Unless—thee is stopped in the way," with a leer and a wink. He took the tallow candle from Dallas, and inspected him gravely as he put it slowly down on the table. "Knowing what I know of thee, Galbraith," he said, deliberately, "thee is as curious a specimen of a human being as ever I met. And my experience in them is not small."
The tall, raw-boned fellow stood in the middle of the floor, the yellow light full about him, looking into the Quaker's face with a demeanor as grave and moderate as his own. Even to Tim there was something incomprehensible in the scarecrow gear, in the childish face, with lank, light hair brushed behind the ears, and the sane, grave, dark-blue eyes, into which Ledwith stooped and peered, and stooped and peered again, his own eyes jeering one moment and sternly questioning the next, but without effect. Beyond a distressed surprise, there was no sign of flinching or inward consciousness in the lad.
"Well, well!" standing upright and rolling his hands one in the other with a discomfited impatience; "I've hunted many a rabbit in my day, and let 'em double as they would, I had 'em at last. So this is Laddoun's work-shop? It's here the brains are, eh? I thought as much. Some of these days the young whelp will make his fortune with a Laddoun's Balsam or Pill, and look for thee to grub on in the background? Hardly, I fancy; the brains will take their place in the end. I see thy cards, Dallas."
"You are talking of what I don't understand," said Dallas, bluntly, with a queer quaver in his voice; "nor you either, I suspect, Mr. Ledwith. Laddoun has apparatus at the shop. I know nothing about balsams or pills. I do my work because it is the only work I could ever understand. I'm counted uncommon dull at other things," simply.
"Thee has a won-derful cleverness," with an approving snap of the fingers and significant nod, as one actor might encourage another on the boards. "But this chemical business; did thee learn it thyself? Is thee self-taught?"
"No. I had a chance," shortly, turning away.
"Thee don't care to go into thy past life, eh? That's natural. Young people like better to look forward than back," with a shrewd smile. "I'll leave you, boys, now; good-night! Thee had better load thy weapon, Dallas; thee might need it for defence," with a chuckle.
Galbraith closed the door after him, and stood for a moment beside it, with his back towards Tim; when he turned and came to the fire again, the look with which he had met the Quaker was gone; there was something at odds and in here was nothing, Tim saw, but the boy who had played ball with him, and cooked the crabs with such jolly fun half an hour ago. But he moved as if he were tired and sick; pulled Tim up to his knees, holding his hands on his shoulders. When the boy looked up at him he saw that his eyes were fixed on the fire and were red and full of tears.
"Tim?" he said.
"Yes, Dallas," gently, putting his fingers upon the big hand on his shoulder
