Peter rubbed his dirty hands together for a moment, gave an avaricious curl to his under lip, squinted his porcine eyes, and asked:
"What do you propose doing with them tools?"
Then he suddenly turned his head, with a grin of malice on his countenance, and looked through his peephole at Eli, whom he saw at that moment parlying with a forlorn creature of the feminine gender. After gazing thereat for a moment, he turned to the stranger to receive an answer to his question.
"Nothing, any more than that I want them," answered the stranger, carelessly.
"That is not a satisfactory answer," said Peter, again turning to his peephole, from which place he could not now unrivet his eyes.
"That's my only answer," replied the stranger. "Your name is Peter Dieman, is it not?"
Peter quickly unriveted his eyes, and looked up with astonishment at the peculiar tone in the stranger's voice, and the sharp look in his steel-gray eyes.
"It is my name," growled Peter.
"I knew it was—judging by the sign over the door," said the stranger.
"Then why in the devil do you ask such a foolish question, if you knew it?" said Peter, ferociously.