han hinted of a certain grim joy of combat.

"Young man," he said, almost gently, "you are mighty fortunate."

Conniston rose, making no reply, as he waited for an explanation.

"Yes, mighty fortunate. You are taking hold. I know what you were when
you came to us; I know what you are now. I can see what you are going
to grow to be. I congratulate you. And I congratulate you upon being
placed in a position from which you are going to see the biggest fight
that was ever heard of in this part of the country. Things are going
dead against us these days. Do you know what that means?" He squared
his shoulders, and for a moment his lips came together in a straight
line. Then he smiled again.

"Are you never--afraid of the outcome?" asked Conniston.

"I believe in God, Mr. Conniston. I believe in my work. I believe in
myself. We are not going to fail."

In that one brief, fleeting second Conniston had a view of John
Crawford he had never glimpsed before. He made no reply. For a moment
there was complete silence, broken after a little by Hapgood's voice
from the dining-room. Mr. Crawford, walking composedly back and forth,
drawing thoughtfully at his cigar, gave no evidence of so much as
hearing the low-toned voice. To Conniston, who thought that he could
guess what it was that had put the pleading note into the guarded
tones, the words came in an indistinguishable murmur. Conniston,
having no desire to play the part of eavesdropper, strolled out upon
the porch.

It was only a moment later when the door which he had softly closed
behind him was thrown violently open, and Roger Hapgood, his hat
crushed in his hand, hastened out, ran down the steps, and with no
word of farewell disappeared into the darkness. Conniston gazed after
him in wonderment a moment, and then turned toward the open door
behind him.

Argyl had come into the room, her face flushed, her eyes bright with
anger. Mr. Crawford, looking up from his papers, was saying, quietly:

"What is it, Argyl? What is the matter with Hapgood?"

"I told him to go," she cried, hotly. "I told him never to speak to me
again, never to come into this house!"

Mr. Crawford stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"For good and sufficient reasons, Argyl dear?" he asked, gently.

"Yes. And--and I slapped his face, too!"

A little smile rippled across her father's face.

"Then I am sure that the reason was good and sufficient. And I shall
take pleasure in horsewhipping the littl