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202 Denny was in a feverish state of excitement, was perspiring, prancing- about with his cane, never still, and laboring under some severe mental agitation.

"Alone, Fairbanks?" he projected, in a startling, breathless kind of a way.

"They've all gone to bed but myself," answered Ralph.

"Can I come in?"

"Surely, and welcome."

Denny thumped into the little parlor. He mopped his brow prodigiously, loosened his collar, fidgeted and fumed, and after looking cautiously around put his finger mysteriously to his lips with the hoarsely-whispered injunction:

"Secret as the grave, Fairbanks!"

Ralph nodded, with a smile indulging the whim or mood of his good loyal friend, who he knew was given to heroics.

"What's the trouble?" he asked.

"Bardon."

"I fancied so," said Ralph.

"Came right up here to see you," explained Denny. "Forgan sent me."

"The foreman?" murmured Ralph, in some surprise.

"Yes. You are not to report in the morning."

"Does Mr. Forgan say so?"