lonely floors of his four-room house. He was in the passage, and was trying to shout, forcing his voice huskily—
"You 'll break the door! You 'll break the door!"
He opened it. Two men were outside whom he knew. Each was burly and strong. Each carried upon a well-fed body a large, sufficient, beefy face. Each had the bearing of a trained, drilled man. The one who stood somewhat forward as the superior had something approaching to kindness in his intelligent eyes, and both had the eyes of brave men—though not of loyal ones.
"Well, Sammy?" said the one in command.
"Oh, Mr. Ferguson! Mr. Ferguson!" came in Mr. Montague's half-voice.
"Well, Sammy," said Mr. Ferguson again, "you nearly lost some of your paint that time! You weren't asleep, Sam," he said, winking; "you 's never are! I believe you sleep dinner-time, like the owls."
The inferior of the two visitors grinned as in duty bound at the excellent joke. Mr. Montague smiled with the smile of an aged idol.
"Mr. Ferguson! Mr. Ferguson!" he
