often. The same gang never comes twice. Road's too bad, and they complain like fury about the moskeeters."

"Do they? How peevish! Atkins, you're not married?"

It was an innocent question, but it had an astonishing effect. The lightkeeper bounced on the bench as if someone had kicked it violently from beneath.

"What?" he quavered shrilly. "Wha—what's that?"

Brown was surprised. "I asked if you were married, that's all," he said. "I can't see—"

"Stop!" Seth's voice shook, and he bent down to glare through the darkness at his companion's face. "Stop!" he ordered. "You asked me if I was—married?"

"Yes. Why shouldn't I?"

"Why shouldn't you? See here, young feller, you—you—what made you ask that?"

"What made me?"

"Stop sayin' my words after me. Are you a man or a poll-parrot? Can't you understand plain United States language? What made you? Or WHO made you? Who told you to ask me that question?"

He pounded the bench with his fist. The pair stared at each other for a moment; then Brown leaned back and began to whistle. Seth seized him by the shoulders.

"Quit that foolishness, d'you hear?" he snarled. "Quit it, and answer me!"

The answer was prefaced by a pitying shake of the head.

"It's the mosquitoes," observed the young man, musingly. "They get through and puncture the brain after a time, I presume. I'm not surprised exactly, but," with a sigh, "I'm very sorry."

"What are you talkin' about," demanded Atkins. "Be you crazy?"

"No-o. I'M not."

"YOU'RE not! Do you mean that I am?"

"Well," slowly, "I'm not an expert in such cases, but when a perfectly simple, commonplace question sets a chap to pounding and screaming and offering violence, then—well, it's either insanity or an attempt at insult, one or the other. I've given you the benefit of the doubt."

He scratched a match on his heel and relit his pipe. The lightkeeper still stared, suspicious and puzzled. Then he drew a long breath.

"I—I didn't mean to insult you," he stammered.

"Glad to hear it, I'm sure. If I were you, however, I should see a doctor for the other trouble."

"And I ain't crazy, neither. I beg your pardon for hollerin' and grabbin' hold of you."

"Granted."

"Thank ye. Now," hesitatingly, "would you mind tellin' me why you asked me if I was married?"

"Not in the least. I asked merely because it occurred to me that you might be. Of course, I had seen nothing of your wife, but it was barely possible that she was away on a visit, or somewhere. There is no regulation forbidding lightkeepers marrying—at least, I never heard of any—and so I asked; that's all."

Seth nodded. "I see," he said, slowly; "yes, yes, I see. So you didn't have no special reason."

"I did not. Of course, if I had realized that you were subject to—er—fits, I should have been more careful."

"Hum! . . . Well, I—I beg your pardon again. I—I am kind of touchy on some p'ints. Didn't I tell you no women came here? Married! A wife! Do I look like a dum fool?"

"Not now."

"Well, then! And I've apologized for bein' one a few minutes ago, ain't I."

"Yes, you have. No grudge on my part, I assure you. Let's forget it and talk of something else."

They did, but the dialogue was rather jerky. Brown was thinking, and Atkins seemed moody and disinclined to talk. After a time he announced that it was getting late and he cal'lated he would go up to the light room. "You'd better turn in," he added, rising.

"Just a minute," said the young man. "Wait just a minute. Atkins, suppose I asked you another question—would you become violent at once? or merely by degrees?"

Seth frowned. The suspicious look returned to his face.

"Humph!" he grunted. "Depended on what you asked me, maybe."

"Yes. Well, this one is harmless—at least, I hope it is. I thought the other was, also, but I . . . There! there! be calm. Sit down again and listen. This question is nothing like that. It's about that assistant of yours, the chap who left a day or two before I drifted in. What were his duties? What did he have to do when he was here?"

"Wa-al," drawled Seth with sarcasm, resuming his seat on the bench; "he was SUPPOSED to do consider'ble many things. Stand watch and watch with me, and scrub brass and clean up around, and sweep and wash dishes and—and—well, make himself gen'rally useful. Them was the duties he was supposed to have. What he done was diff'rent. Pesky loafer! Why?"

"That's what I'm going to tell you. Have they appointed his successor yet? Have you got any one to take his place?"

"No. Fact is, I'd ought to have telegraphed right off to the Board, but I ain't. I was so glad to see the last of him that I kept puttin' it off. I'll do it tomorrer."

"Perhaps you won't need to."

"Course I'll need to! Why not? Got to have somebody to help. That's rules and regulations; and, besides, I can't keep awake day and night, too. What makes you think I won't need to?"

The young man knocked the ashes from his pipe. Rising, he laid a hand on his companion's shoulder.

"Because you've got an assistant right here on the premises," he said. "Delivered by the Atlantic express right at your door. Far be it from me to toot my horn, Mr. Atkins, or to proclaim my merits from the housetops. But, speaking as one discerning person to another, when it comes to an A1, first chop lightkeeper's assistant, I ask: 'What's the matter with yours truly, John Brown?'"

Seth's reply was not in words. The hand holding his pipe fell limp upon his lap, and he stared at the speaker. The latter, entirely unabashed, waved an airy gesture, and continued.

"I repeat," he said, "'What's the matter with John Brown?' And echo answers, 'He's all right!' I am a candidate for the position of assistant keeper at Eastboro Twin-Lights."

"YOU?"

"Me."

"But—but—aw, go on! You're foolin'."

"Not a fool. I mean it. I am here. I'm green, but in the sunshine of your experience I agree to ripen rapidly. I can wash dishes—you've seen me. I believe I could scrub brass and sweep."

"You wantin' to be assistant at a place like this! YOU! an edicated, able young chap, that's been used to valets and servants and—"

"Why do you say that? How do you know I've been used to those things?"

"'Cause, as I hinted to you a spell ago, I ain't altogether a dum fool. I can put two and two together and make four, without having the example done for me on a blackboard. You're a rich man's son; you've been used to sassiety and city ways and good clothes. YOU wantin' to put in your days and nights in a forsaken hole like this! Nonsense! Get out!"

But Mr. Brown refused to get out.

"No nonsense about it," he declared. "It is the hand of Fate. With the whole broadside of Cape Cod to land upon, why was I washed ashore just at this particular spot? Answer:—Because at this spot, at this time, Eastboro Twin-Lights needed an assistant keeper. I like the spot. It is beautiful. 'Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.' With your permission, I'll stay here. The leopard may or may not change his spots, but I sha'n't. I like this one and here I stay. Yes, I mean it. I stay—as your assistant. Come, what do you say? Is it a go?"

The lightkeeper rose once more. "I'm goin' on watch," he said with decision. "You turn in. You'll feel better in the mornin'."

He started towards the tower. But John Brown sprang from the bench and followed him.

"Not until you've answered my question," he declared. "AM I to be your assistant?"

"No, course you ain't. It's dum foolishness. Besides, I ain't got the say; the government hires its own keepers."

"But you can square the government. That will be easy. Why," with a modest gesture, "look what the government is getting. It will jump at the chance. Atkins, you must say yes."

"I sha'n't, neither. Let go of my arm. It's blame foolishness, I tell you. Why," impatiently,