The stranger was not to be so easily disposed of. He put himself before
the millionnaire a second time, and repeated his question.
Hiram Meeker was not a coward--that is, so far as his brain served him;
and we all know he had enough of that.
Finding he was not to get rid of the unknown so readily, he stopped and
regarded him with careful scrutiny.
The other repeated his question still again: 'Do you want your wood
split?'
Hiram was not slow to perceive that the man was insane, and he
endeavored to humor him.
'Yes,' he said, 'I want my wood split very much indeed. It is too late
to-night; but come to my house to-morrow, and you shall have the job.'
'Oh, no, no, no!' cried the other, 'I work only by night--only by
night--and I cannot go to your house--you must come to mine!'
He laid hold of Hiram's arm with a tenacious grasp.
'I must first go home,' said Hiram, calmly, 'and send my wood round for
you to split.'
'Not so, not so,' retorted the maniac. 'It has already been sent. Come
and see!'--and he began pulling at Hiram's arm--not with ferocity, but
with a doggedness almost worse.
Hiram looked up and down the street. Not a soul was visible. The
creature who stopped his way was a powerful man--was armed with a deadly
weapon--was mad.
Hiram came swiftly to a conclusion.
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