"And," said Scully, "there's a new railroad goin' to be built down
from Broken Arm to here. Not to mintion the four churches and the
smashin' big brick schoolhouse. Then there's the big factory, too.
Why, in two years Romper'll be a met-tro-pol-is."
Having finished the preparation of his baggage, the Swede
straightened himself. "Mr. Scully," he said with sudden hardihood,
"how much do I owe you?"
"You don't owe me anythin'," said the old man angrily.
"Yes, I do," retorted the Swede. He took seventy-five cents from his
pocket and tendered it to Scully; but the latter snapped his fingers
in disdainful refusal. However, it happened that they both stood
gazing in a strange fashion at three silver pieces in the Swede's open
palm.
"I'll not take your money," said Scully at last. "Not after what's
been goin' on here." Then a plan seemed to strike him. "Here," he
cried, picking up his lamp and moving toward the door. "Here! Come
with me a minute."
"No," said the Swede in overwhelming alarm.
"Yes," urged the old man. "Come on! I want you to come and see a
picter- just across the hall- in my room."
The Swede must have concluded that his hour was come. His jaw
dropped and his teeth showed like a dead man's. He ultimately followed
Scully across the corridor, but he had the step of one hung in chains.
Scully flashed the light high on the wall of his own chamber.
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