"He said he wouldn't have any supper. Just wanted to be left alone," said the boy.
"Sulking over the knife still, I imagine," sneered Parton; and then he and I retired to our room and prepared for bed.
I do not suppose I had slept for more than an hour when I was awakened by Parton, who was pacing the floor like a caged tiger, his eyes all ablaze, and laboring under an intense nervous excitement.
"What's the matter, Jack?" I asked, sitting up in bed.
"That d—ned Barker has upset my nerves," he replied. "I can't get him out of my mind."
"Oh, pshaw!" I replied. "Don't be silly. Forget him."
"Silly?" he retorted, angrily. "Silly? Forget him? Hang it, I would forget him if he'd let me—but he won't."
"What has he got to do with it?"
"More than is decent," ejaculated Parton. "More than is decent. He has just been peering in through that window there, and he means no good."
"Why, you're mad," I remonstrated. "He couldn't peer in at the window—we are on the fourth floor, and there is no possible way in which he could reach the window, much less peer in at it."