"
He came out slowly from the obscurity of the bar, blinking his faded
eyes.
Bart knew he would not be unfriendly. His father, one stormy night a few
years previous, had picked up Green half frozen to death in a snowdrift,
where he had fallen in a drunken stupor.
Every Christmas day since then, Green had regularly sent a jug of liquor
to his father, with word by the messenger that it was for "the squarest
man in Pleasantville, who had saved his life."
Mr. Stirling had set Bart a practical temperance example by pouring the
liquor into the sink, but had not offended Green by declining his
well-meant offerings.
Bart remembered this, and felt that he might appeal to Green to some
purpose.
"Mr. Wacker is not at home," he explained, "and I wish to find him. I
understand he was here last night."
"He was," assented Green. "Came here about ten, and hasn't left the
house since."
"Why!" ejaculated Bart--and paused abruptly. "He is here now?"
"Asleep upstairs."
"And he has been here since--he is here now!" questioned Bart
incredulously.
"He was, ten minutes ago, when I came down--" asserted Green.
Bart stood dumbfounded.
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