“Ah! what was the matter?”
“Old John P.’s dog kept up such a confounded barking and yelling, that I couldn’t sleep a wink. However, there was a deuced quick stop put to it about two o’clock as I should judge.”
“How was that?”
“A pistol shot I fancy. I heard the report, and one yell from the dog, and then all was as quiet as could be wished.”
Here Saint John began to pick up his ears. He stopped measuring some calico which he had been busy on, and said —
“The deuce! Who could have shot him?”
“Loafing Joe they say. At least old Wheeler, whom I met at the upper end of the village, told me so.”
“There’s a chance for a suit for you, Squire! John P. will complain, wont he?”
“No doubt of it. Well Joe has got nothing, so he must e’en go to jail!”
“Good riddance for the village. I wish the vagabond was always there.”