CHAPTER II
The next evening, Junius Cobb again welcomed the arrival of his friends to his apartments.
The November rains had set in in reality, and like the preceding evening, the post wore an aspect of moistened gloom.
Cobb’s friends had come earlier than usual, for the events of the previous evening were so vividly before their minds that it was impossible to await the arrival of the conventional hour for calling upon their friend.
They rattled up the stairs, knocked respectfully at his door, and entered without waiting for his well-known voice.
He was sitting in his easy-chair, but arose at the first sound of their approach, and as they entered, cordially grasped the hand of each.
“Boys, I am glad you came earlier than is your custom,” he said, motioning them to chairs.
“We could not wait for nine o’clock,” replied Hathaway, breathless from running up the stairs.
“No; we couldn’t wait,” chimed in Craft. “I do believe I dreamed of nothing but ozone, dead cats, chemistry, and the like, all night. I am, in fact, weary for want of sleep.”