Beyond this there was no movement. The Hon. I.
B. Kerfoot was asleep.
I watched the slowly heaving figure for a moment, picked up a chair,
and gently closed the door. I could now look the colonel in the face
so far as the judge was concerned. My account with the colonel was
settled.
Retiring to the yard outside, which was cool and shady, and, despite
its dilapidated appearance, a grateful relief from the glare of the
street, I tilted my chair against the dissipated wall, with its damaged
complexion of scaling white-wash, and sat down to await the colonel's
return.
Meanwhile Chad busied himself about the kitchen, moving in and out the
basement door, and at last brought up a great tin pan, seated himself
on the lower step, and proceeded to shell pease, indulging all the
while in a running commentary on the events of the preceding week.
One charm in Chad's conversation was its clearness. You always absorbed
his meaning. Another was its reliability. When he finished you had the
situation in full.
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