“Here comes Dicky, now,” said Porter, as a dark figure came swinging lightly along.
“Hullo!” cried Dicky, halting and shading his eyes from the gaslight. “I was just going up to look for you again.”
“What's up, Dicky?”
“I guess it's the devil,” said Dicky, so gravely that I broke into a laugh.
“He's right at home if he's come to this town,” I said.
“I'm glad you find it so funny,” said Dicky in an injured tone. “You was scared enough last time.”
I had put my foot in it, sure enough. I might have guessed that the devil was not his Satanic Majesty but some evil-minded person in the flesh whom I had to fear.
“Can it be Doddridge Knapp?” flashed across my mind but I dismissed the suspicion as without foundation. I spoke aloud:
“Well, I've kept out of his claws this far, and it's no use to worry. What's he trying to do now?”
“That's what I've been trying to find out all the evening. They're noisy enough, but they're too thick to let one get near where there's anything going on—that is, if he has a fancy for keeping a whole skin.”