ch a useless
member." And he helped himself from the decanter, seemed to hesitate for
a moment, and continued:

"And Mr. Jason Hill--he has been to call, Ned. Have you seen him since?"

"He's been walking out in the road, sir, all morning," replied Mr. Aiken.
"And a schooner of his is anchored upstream. And if you'll pardon the
liberty, I don't give that for Jason Hill," and he spat into the fire.

"It may please you to know," said my father, "that I quite agree
with you. I am afraid," he went on, looking at the back of his hand,
"that Jason does not take me seriously. I fear he will find he is
wrong. Brutus!"

Brutus, apparently anticipating something pleasant, moved towards my
father's chair.

"My pistols, Brutus. And it is growing dark. You had best draw the
shutters and bring in the candles. We're sailing very close to the
wind this evening. Listen to me carefully, Brutus. You will have the
cutter by the bar at eight o'clock, and in five minutes you will bring
out my horse."

"What's the horse for?" asked Mr. Aiken.

My father settled himself back more comfortably in his chair before he
answered. A few drops of wine had spilled on the mahogany. He touched
them, and held up his fingers and looked thoughtfully at the stain.

"Because I propose to ride through them," he said. "I propose showing our
friends--how shall I put it so you'll understand?--that I don't care a
damn for the whole pack."

"Gad!" murmured Mr. Aiken. "I might have known it. And here I was
thinking you'd be quiet and sensible. Are you still going on with that
damned paper?"

The red of the wine seemed to please my father. He dipped his fingers in
it again and drew them slowly across the back of his left hand.

"Precisely," he said. "I propose to deliver it tonight before I sail. I
leave it at Hixon's farm."

"He's dead," said Mr. Aiken.

"Exactly," said my father. "Only his shade will help me. Perhaps it will
be enough--who knows?"

"There'll be half a dozen after you before you get through the gate,"
said Mr. Aiken dubiously. "You can lay to it Lawton will be there before
you make a turn."

"That," said my father, "is why I say we're sailing very close to
the wind."

"Good God, sir, burn it up," said Mr. Aiken plaintively. "What's it been
doing but causing trouble ever since we've got it? Running gear carried
away--man wounded from splinters. Hell to pay everywhere. Gad, sir,
they're afraid to sleep tonight for fear you'll blo