again. "Perhaps I'd better tell you the truth. He was discharged
for drug-taking. A capable workman, but we couldn't keep him
straight. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but it seems fairer,
since you say you're anxious about your sister."

The polished sides of the office vanished from Ann Eliza's
sight, and the cackle of the innumerable clocks came to her like
the yell of waves in a storm. She tried to speak but could not;
tried to get to her feet, but the floor was gone.

"I'm very sorry," Mr. Loomis repeated, closing the ledger. "I
remember the man perfectly now. He used to disappear every now and
then, and turn up again in a state that made him useless for days."

As she listened, Ann Eliza recalled the day when she had come
on Mr. Ramy sitting in abject dejection behind his counter. She
saw again the blurred unrecognizing eyes he had raised to her, the
layer of dust over everything in the shop, and the green bronze
clock in the window representing a Newfoundland dog with his paw on
a book. She stood up slowly.

"Thank you. I'm sorry to have troubled you."

"It was no trouble. You say Ramy married your sister last
October?"

"Yes, sir; and they went to St. Louis right afterward. I
don't know how to find her. I thought maybe somebody here might
know about him."