Mr. James Dodd did not return from the Forks that afternoon, to Jeff's
vague uneasiness. Towards evening a messenger brought a note from him,
written on the back of a printed legal form, to this effect:


DEAR SIR--Seeing as you Intend to act on the Square in regard to that
little Mater I have aranged Things so that I ant got to stop with you
but I'll drop in onct in a wile to keep up a show for a Drink--respy
yours, J. DODD.


In this latter suggestion our legal Cerberus exhibited all three of his
heads at once. One could keep faith with Miss Mayfield, one could see
her "onct in a wile," and one could drink at Jeff's expense. Innocent
Jeff saw only generosity and kindness in the man he had half-choked,
and a sense of remorse and shame almost outweighed the relief of his
absence. "He might hev been ugly," said Jeff. He did not know how, in
this selfish world, there is very little room for gratuitous, active
ugliness.

Miss Mayfield did not leave her room that afternoon. The wind was
getting up, and it was growing dark when Jeff, idly sitting on his
porch, hoping for her appearance, was quite astounded at the apparition
of Yuba Bill as a pedestrian, dusty and thirsty, making for his usual
refreshment. Jeff brought out the bottle, but could not refrain from
mixing his verbal astonishment with the conventional cocktail. Bill,
partaking of his liquor and becoming once more a speaking animal, slowly
drew off his heavy, baggy driving gloves. No one had ever seen Bill
without them--he was currently believed to sleep in them--and when he
laid them on the counter they still retained the grip of his hand, which