For several days succeeding the affair Hank Glutter's saloon was the general rendezvous of the wonder-loving country people round about. All appeared to enjoy the tippling vastly more than Hank himself.
It was not the thought of the needy wife sighing for the hard earned shilling, with which to provide for the many little forms that must go half clad, and the little feet uncovered during the approaching winter, for want of those bits of metal ringing out so sadly as they fell into his drawer, that clouded his unusually complacent smile; neither was it the remembrance of the cruel part he had acted in Little Wolf's abduction that shook his sin-stained soul. He affected to discredit the appearance of the much-talked-of apparition, and yet he was continually tormented with a vague dread of a second visit from his ghost-ship, which he would have pursuaded himself was entirely a creature of the imagination, had not his missing fourth proof brandy bottle proved the contrary.
He had resolved not to mention the occurrence that had so strangely disturbed him, but, being one day alone with Edward, who had called particularly to make one of a company who were going out the day following to renew the search for Little Wolf, he ventured to communicate his secret to him.
"Why, Mr. Glutter, why didn't you tell me before?" said Edward smiling in spite of the sad errand that had brought him there, "all this time you have needlessly tormented yourself."
"How so, Mr. Sherman?"
"Why, Dr. DeWolf swallows a portion of that fourth proof every day. I have no doubt it was he who paid you the visit. I am certain that he knows something about the murder of Mrs. Green, and he must have been the man in white that little Fanny talks about. I see it all clearly now; Dr. DeWolf is the ghost, and he has kept his bed to prevent suspicion."
"I was confident," said Hank with a look of infinite relief, "that the Dr. would have his dram, spite of our machinations. I have known several such cases of apparently insatiable thirst, and it was impossible to keep liquor away from them. Sorrel Top's husband, Harry Herrick, was the worst case of the kind that ever came under my observation. He drank quite moderately at first, but suddenly appeared to have lost all control over his appetite. I reasoned with him in vain, and finally, out of pity to his family I refused him admission here altogether. Well, the result was he stole from my cellar what he could not beg; for the miserable creature was penniless, and before I was aware of it, he actually drank himself to death. It happened while Miss DeWolf was away at school, and on her return my conduct was basely misrepresented to her, and she espoused the widow's cause and took her into her family, and ever after has treated me with contempt. However, I harbor no ill will towards Miss DeWolf. I would gladly make one of your party, were it not entirely impossible for me to leave here; but believe me, I wish you success, Mr. Sherman."
