John, jun., who was cognizant of the facts, remarked, "If he were in his (Ginsling's) place, he'd be even with him yet."
"I can't help but suspect that he has seen Lou lately, and I am half inclined to think she likes him yet; if she didn't, she would not have used me as she has done to-night."
"She may have," said John, jun.; "but the reason she was so huffy to-night was because you were drunk. But who's that?" he suddenly exclaimed—"I believe it is Barton!"
As he spoke, he drew back his chair from the window, and gliding therefrom, stealthily crept to where he could observe all Barton's movements, but where the latter could not possibly see him. Ginsling also arose as stealthily as possible, and glided behind John, jun. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and they could see almost as plainly as if it were day.
"Yes; it is Barton!" whispered Ginsling; "and I believe he is drunk."
"I wonder what the idiot is going to do?" questioned John, jun.; "here he comes towards the house."
"Let him come," said Ginsling; "I guess we will be ready for him."
Barton staggered towards the veranda—which extended around three sides of the house—and after one or two attempts to step up on to it, was at last successful; then, muttering to himself, he came towards the window, where the two men were observing him.
"Hush!" said Ginsling, "he seems to be having an interesting soliloquy, and possibly we may hear what he says."
In the dead stillness of the night Barton's low mutterings could be heard distinctly: