have decided to keep it--for a time at any rate."

Sharlee smiled, but it was an inward smile and he never knew anything
about it. "Have you gotten really interested in the work--personally
interested, I mean?"

He hesitated. "I hardly like to say how much."

"The more you become interested in it--and I believe it will be
progressive--the less you will mind saying so."

"It is a strange interest-utterly unlike me--"

"How do you know it isn't more like you than anything you ever did in
your life?"

That struck him to silence; he gave her a quick inquiring glance, and
looked away at once; and Sharlee, for the moment entirely oblivious of
the noise and the throng all about her, went on.

"I called that a magnificent boast once--about your being editor of the
_Post_. Do you remember? Isn't it time I was confessing that you have
got the better of me?"

"I think it is too soon," he answered, in his quietest voice, "to say
whether I have got the better of you, or you have got the better of
me."

Sharlee looked off down the street. "But you certainly will be editor of
the _Post_ some day."

"As I recall it, we did not speak only of editorial writing that night."

"Oh, listen ...!"

From far away floated the strains of "Dixie," crashed out by forty
bands. The crowd on the sidewalks stirred; prolonged shouts went up; and
now all those who were seated on the porch arose at one motion and came
forward.

Sharlee had to spring up to greet still another relative. She came back
in a moment, sincerely hoping that Mr. Queed would resume the
conversation which her exclamation had interrupted. But he spoke of
quite a different matter, a faint cloud on his intelligent brow.

"You should hear Professor Nicolovius on these veterans of yours."

"What does he say about them? Something hateful, I'm sure."

"Among other things, that they are a lot of professional beggars who
have lived for forty years on their gray uniforms, and can best serve
their country by dying with all possible speed. Do you know," he mused,
"if you could hear him, I believe you would be tempted to guess that he
is a former Union officer--who got into trouble, perhaps, and was
cashiered."

"But of course you know all about him?"

"No," said he, honest, but looking rather annoyed at having given her
such an opening, "I know only what he told me."

"Sharlee," came her mother's voice from the rear, "are you sitting on
the cold stone?"

"No, mother.