lushing scarlet, stood up and faced the intruders.

"Stand back, girl!" cried Sizer in a fierce tone; "it's that coward
editor I'm after," pointing his whip with trembling hand at Arthur. "My
sister Molly may be rough, an' hev a rough smile, but I'll be dinged ef
I don't skin the man thet prints it in a paper!"

"Good fer you, Bill!" murmured his friends, approvingly.

Arthur leaned back and regarded his accuser in wonder. The big table,
littered with papers, was between them.

"Come out o' there, ye measly city chap, an' take yer medicine," roared
Bill, swinging his whip. "I'll larn ye to come inter a decent
neighborhood an' slander its women. Come outer there!"

West had sat quietly observing the scene. Now he inquired, in composed
tones:

"What's the trouble, Bill?"

"Trouble? Trouble, West? Why, this lyin' scroundrel said in his paper
thet our Molly had a rough smile. That's the trouble!"

"Did he really say that?" asked West.

"'Course he did. Printed it in the paper, for all to read. That's why
I've come to cowhide the critter within an inch o' his life!"

"Good fer you, Bill!" cried his friends, encouragingly.

"But--wait a moment!" commanded West, as the maddened, half drunken
young farmer was about to leap over the table to grasp his victim;
"you're not going at this thing right, Bill Sizer."

"Why ain't I, Bob West?"

"Because," answered West, in calm, even tones, "this insult is too great
to be avenged by a mere cowhiding. Nothing but blood will wipe away the
dreadful stain on your sister's character."

"Oh, Mr. West!" cried Patsy, horrified by such a statement.

"Eh? Blood?" said Bill, stupefied by the suggestion.

"Of course," returned West. "You mustn't thrash Mr. Weldon; you must
kill him."

A delighted chorus of approval came from Sizer's supporters.

"All right, then," said the bully, glaring around, "I--I'll kill the
scandler!"

"Hold on!" counselled West, seizing his arm. "This affair must be
conducted properly--otherwise the law might cause us trouble. No murder,
mind you. You must kill Weldon in a duel."

"A--a what? A duel!" gasped Sizer.

"To be sure. That's the way to be revenged. Hetty," he added, turning to
the artist, who alone of the observers had smiled instead of groaned at
the old gentleman's startling suggestion, "will you kindly run up to my
rooms and get a red leather case that lies under the shell cabinet?
Thank you, my dear."

Hetty was off like a flash. Du