s up to him to be the first man in Egypt to come
in contact with Tasper Britt that morning.

Stage-driver Jones had an early breakfast, for he had to be off with the
mail. Mr. Jones had been up late, for him, and he was grouchy. In the
matter of the warfare on Pharaoh his mood seemed to be less assertive
than it had been the night before. Mr. Files detected that much after
some conversation while the breakfast was served.

"All you have to do is 'gid-dap' and get away," said Files, sourly. "I
have to stay here on my job and be the first to meet him and get the
brunt of the whole thing. And I condoned, as you might say, and as he'll
probably feel. I let my porch be used for meeting and mobbing, as you
might say. And he ketched me grinning over his shoulder when I read
them heading words after that old lunkhead of a Prophet passed him the
paper."

"Shut up!" remarked Driver Jones, stabbing a potato.

"I owe him money--and I let my porch be used--"

"Figure out the wear and tear on the planks and pass me the bill. Now
shut up and don't spoil my vittles any morn'n you have done in the way
of cooking 'em."

Mr. Files, left alone to meet Britt, resolved to hand that tyrant a
partial sop by having breakfast on the table the moment the regular
boarder unfolded his napkin; food might stop Britt's mouth to some
extent, the landlord reflected.

Result of this precautionary courtesy! The breakfast was a mess when
Britt arrived, a half hour late. Mr. Files had depended on his boarder's
invariable punctuality and had been obliged to keep "hotting up" the
food, watching the clock with increasing despair.

Britt smiled on the landlord when they faced each other in the dining
room. The smile made the landlord shiver. He was dreading the explosion.
He set on the viands as timidly as a child holding out peanuts to
an elephant. Mr. Britt beamed blandly and spoke of the change in the
weather and said he was hoping that "Old Reliable Ike wouldn't be
bothered too much by the soft footing on his way to Levant."

Mr. Files gasped when he heard this consideration expressed for the
ringleader of the evening's demonstration. He recovered sufficiently to
start in on an explanation of the condition of the food.

"It's all right, Files! It's my fault. I overslept."

Britt ate for a few minutes; then he suspended operations and looked
Files hard in the face; that face, as to mouth, was as widely open as
the countenance of the office allig