It was twenty minutes of ten before a sleepy and decidedly irritable voice responded in answer to Donaldson\'s cheery hello. There was little of Christian spirit to be detected in it.

"Is this Deacon Staples?"

"Yes. But I \'d like t\' know what ye mean by gettin\' a man outern bed at this time of night?"

"Why, you were n\'t in bed, Deacon!"

"In bed? See here, is this some confounded joke?"

"What kind of a joke, Deacon?"

"A—joke. Who are you, anyway?"

"I don\'t believe you remember me; I \'m Peter Donaldson."

"Don\'t recoleck your name. What d\' ye want this time o\' night?"

"Why, it\'s early yet, Deacon. You weren\'t really in bed!"

"I tell ye I was, an\' that so is all decent folk. Once \'n fer all—what d\'ye want?"

"I heard you had a house to sell."

"Wall, I ain\'t sellin\' houses on th\' Lord\'s day."

"Won\'t be Sunday for two hours and twenty minutes yet, Deacon. If you talk lively, you can do a day\'s work before then. What will you take for the old Burnham place?"

The deacon hesitated. He was a bit confused by this unusual way of doing business. It was too hurried an affair, and besides it did not give him an opportunity to size up his man. Nor did he know how familiar this possible purchaser was with the property.

"Where be you?" he demanded.

"In New York."

"In—see here, I rec\'gnize your voice; you \'re Billy Harkins down to the corner. Ye need n\'t think ye can play your jokes on me."

"We \'ve only two hours and a quarter left," warned Donaldson.

"Well, ye need n\'t think I \'m goin\' to stand here in the cold fer thet long."

"It\'s warm \'nuff here," Donaldson answered genially.

"Maybe ye \'ve gut more on than I have."

"Hush, Deacon, there are ladies present."

"They ain\'t neither, down here. Our women are in bed, where they oughter be."

"Not at this hour! Why, the evening is young yet. But how much will you take?"

"Wal, th\' place is wuth \'bout two thousand dollars."

Donaldson realized that it was the magic word "New York" which had so suddenly inflated the price. The deacon was taking a chance that this might be some wealthy New Yorker looking for a country home.

"Do you call that a fair price?" he asked.

"The house is in good condition, and thar \'s over three acres of good grass land and ten acres of pasture with pooty trees in it."

"Just so. I \'m not able to look the place over, so I \'ll have to depend upon your word for it. You consider that a fair price for the property?"

"Well, o\' course, fer cash I might knock off fifty."

"I see. Then nineteen hundred and fifty is an honest value of the whole estate?"

"I \'low as much."

"Deacon."

"Yes" (eagerly).

"You \'re a member of the church."

"Yes" (lamely).

"And you certainly would n\'t deal unfairly with a neighbor on Sunday?"

"What—"

"It\'s thirteen minutes of ten on a Saturday night. That\'s pretty near Sunday, is n\'t it?"

"What of it?" (suspiciously).

"Remember that advertisement you inserted in the Berringdon Gazette?"

There was a silence of a minute.

"Wall," faltered the deacon rather feebly, "I thought mebbe ye wanted the farm fer a summer place. It\'s wuth more fer that."

"It is n\'t worth a cent more. You simply tried to steal two hundred dollars."

"Ye mean ter say—"

"Exactly that; I \'ve prevented you from going to bed within two hours of the Lord\'s day with the theft of two hundred dollars on your soul."

"If ye think I \'m gonter stand up here in th\' cold and listen to sech talk as thet—"

"I \'ll give you fifteen hundred dollars cash for the place," interrupted Donaldson. "And remember that I know you through and through. I even know how much you stole from old man Burnham."

This was a chance shot, but it evidently went home from the sound of uneasy coughing and spluttering that came to him over the telephone. Donaldson found considerable amusement in grilling this country Shylock.

"Why, the house \'n\' barn is wuth more \'n thet," the deacon exploded.

"I \'ll give you fifteen hundred dollars, and mail the money to you to-night."

"See here, I don\'t know who ye be, but ye \'re darned sassy. I won\'t trade with ye afore Monday an\'—"

"Then you won\'t trade at all."

"I \'ll split th\'—"

"You \'ll take that price or leave it."

"I\'ll take it, but—"

"Good," broke in Donaldson sharply. "The operator here is a witness. I \'ll send the money to-night, and have a tenant in the house Tuesday. Good night, Deacon."

"If yer—"

The rest of the sentence faded into the jangle of the line, but Donaldson broke in again.

"Say, Deacon, were you really in bed at this time of night?"

"Gol darn—"

"Careful! Careful!"

"Wall, ye need n\'t think cause ye \'re in N\' York ye can be so all-fired smart."

A sharp click told him that the deacon had hung up the receiver in something of a temper. Donaldson came out of the booth, hesitated, and then put in another call. He found relaxation in the vaudeville picture he had of the spindle-shanked hypocrite fretting in the cold so many miles distant. He was morally certain that the old fellow had robbed the dying Burnham of half his scant property. If he had had the time he would have started a lawyer upon an investigation. As he did n\'t, and he saw nothing more entertaining ahead of him until morning, he took satisfaction in pestering him as much as possible in this somewhat childish way.

"Keep at him until he answers," he ordered the girl.

It took ten minutes to rouse the deacon again.

"Is this Deacon Staples?" he inquired.

"Consarn ye—"

"I was n\'t sure you said good night. I should hate to think you went to sleep in a temper."

"It\'s none of your business how I go to sleep. If you ring me up again I \'ll have the law on ye."

"So? I \'ll return good for evil. I \'ll give you a warning; look out for the ghost of old Burnham to-night."

"For what?"

There was fear in the voice. Donaldson smiled. This suggested a new cue.

"He\'s coming sure, because his daughter is a widow, and needs that money."

"I held his notes," the deacon explained, as though really anxious to offer an excuse. "I can prove it."

"Prove it to Burnham\'s ghost. He may go back."

"B—back where?"

"To his grave. He sleeps uneasy to-night."

"Be you crazy?"

"Look behind you—quick!"

The receiver dro............