Before,
however, he had half completed his self-imposed task, he exclaimed,
"This is dry work. Let's go out and get some beer. I'll finish your
hammer and bring it around after supper."
"There's one S on it," said Sam; "that's enough."
"One S enough! It might mean Smith, or Schneider, or Sullivan. No, sir.
I'll put two on in the highest style of art, and then everybody will
know and respect Sam Sleeny's tool."
They passed out of the room together, and drank their beer at a
neighboring garden. They were both rather silent and preoccupied. As
they parted, Offitt said, "I've got a scheme on hand for raising the
wind, I want to talk to you about. Be at my room to-night between nine
and ten, and wait till I come, if I am out. Don't fail." Sam stared a
little, but promised, asking no questions.
When Offitt came back, he locked the door again behind him. He bustled
about the room as if preparing to move. He had little to pack; a few
shabby clothes were thrown into a small trunk, a pile of letters and
papers were hastily torn up and pitched into the untidy grate. All this
while he muttered to himself as if to keep himself in company.
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