Wile Versus Guile
and feeling mildly resentful, but not particularly so, that people should be so interfering with his business. Now as from force of long habit he peered out of the doorway before making his exit; he looked like one of the John Sargent's prophets gone a little madder than usual—a Jeremiah or a Habakkuk.
"Hello, Doc!" called Murtha in hearty, friendly tones. "Hie spy! Come on out!"
"Oh, how d'ye do, captain!" responded Doc. "How are you? I was just interviewing my solicitor."
"Sorry," said Murtha. "The inspector wants to see you."
Doc flinched.
"But they've just let me go!" he protested faintly.
"It's one of those old indictments—Chicago Water Front or something. Anyhow Here! Hold on to yourself!"
He threw his arms around the old man, who seemed on the point of falling.
"Oh, captain! That's all over! I served time for that out in Illinois!" For some strange reason all the insanity had gone out of his bearing.
"Not in this state," answered Murtha. New pity for this poor old wastrel took hold upon him. "What were you going to do?"
"I was going to retire, captain," said Doc
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