"You didn't see a thing"—the forefinger made a bull's-eye on the button.
"No, sir—not a thing."
"You didn't hear a word"—the forefinger went in and out as unerringly as a piston rod, and the while the little doctor's face was puckered into innumerable scowls, and his words, all bunched up together, were flung out like bullets from the muzzle of a Gatling gun.
"No, sir, not—a word."
"Well, then," jerked out the doctor, with earnest inconsistency, "keep your mouth shut about it!"
"You can trust me, sir," the guard assured him anxiously.
"Hum!" commented Doctor Kreelmar; then, with grim complacency: "If I can't, I'll make Gehenna a feather bed compared to what this place will be for you! Now, then, back you go! Tell 'em the warden'll be over in a—when he gets ready—we're playing chess. Seven-seventy-seven'll keep as well as anybody else. There's nothing about him to make a three-ringed circus over any more than any other man, is there—eh?"
"No, sir," said the guard meekly, and, saluting, went down the steps.
Doctor Kreelmar watched the man disappear in the shadow of the trees then he turned and walked slowly back into the sitting room. Janet's face was buried on her father's shoulder, and the warden's arms were wrapped close around the little form that was shaking with convulsive sobs. The doctor shook his head at the question in the warden's glance.
"She doesn't need me," he said, a curious gruffness in his voice. "Carry her upstairs and let her have her cry
