“I suppose you will be putting it in the stove next?”
“I guess so!”
“Well, you’d better guess again. It is just like the 297 crazy thing you would try to do in one of your soft moments. Give it to me! I’ll take mighty good care of it. It is all that may lie between your guilt or innocence some day, even if it is after Brenchfield is dead and gone to his well-earned reward. A whole lot hinges on that little bit of paper. It has got to be kept good and secure. Come on, softy,––hand it over!”
“If I do, will you promise never to use it in any way unless I consent, or unless I am not in a position to give you either my assent or dissent?”
“Yes!––I promise that.”
“There you are then.” Phil handed it to Langford, who opened a pocket in his belt and put it carefully inside.
“Guess we might have a bite of supper now,––eh, what!”
They drew in to the table; and that Christmas Eve supper was almost hilarious, for now there was no shadow between, and it meant an intense relief to both.
When the supper was nearing its end, Ah Sing, accompanied by two of his faithful feline devil-chasers, came in. He seemed somewhat sadder and more bland than usual.
“What’s the matter, Sing?” queried Jim.