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Mrs. Wilson stood with frowning gaze fastened on the door. She was a tall, angular woman of some forty years, heavy of features, as she was when occasion demanded it, heavy of hand. Tiny fret-lines marred a face which under less trying conditions of life might have been winsome, but tonight the lips of the generous mouth were tightly compressed and the rise and fall of the bosom beneath the low cut flannel gown hinted of a volcano that would ere long erupt to the confusion of somebody. "Me—Thomas Hanlin," was the answer, and a sailor made two or three steps and stood close to Old Jim. Maurice and Billy stared at him. "It was your money paid fer him," Billy asserted. "Now teacher," he said, dropping into a seat by the fire, "give us the news.".