ator. "I did a whole lot of thinking
last night, Files. I'm telling you first, like I propose to tell others
in Egypt as I come in contact with 'em during the day--it has been my
fault--how things have happened! The night brings counsel! Yes, sir, it
surely does." He went on eating.

"Mr. Britt, I was afraid--"

Pharaoh waved his knife expostulatingly. "I know it, Files! Your face
told me the whole story when I stepped in here. But I'm a changed man.
I know when I'm down. However, it's my own fault, I repeat. I stubbed my
toe over the trigs I had set in the way of my own operations. I deserve
what I'm getting--and the lesson will make me a different man from now
on."

Mr. Files staggered out into the kitchen in order to be alone with his
thoughts.

Britt spent a longer time than usual in the tavern office after
breakfast; he smoked two cigars, himself, and gave a cigar to each of
the early citizens who dropped in through the front way after they had
received certain information from Files, who excitedly had beckoned
them to come to him at the ell door. Mr. Britt frankly exposed his new
sentiments about living and doing. When he put on his overcoat and went
forth, Prophet Elias popped out of the door of Usial's cot like the
little gowned figure of a toy barometer. Britt waved his hand in
cheerful greeting. "Prophet Elias, hand me that text about the way of
the transgressor being a hard one to travel, and I'll take it in a meek
and lowly spirit and be much obliged." There was no sarcasm in Britt's
tone; on the contrary, his manner agreed with his profession regarding
meekness. The Prophet swapped stares with Files, who stood in the tavern
door; that Elias was greatly impressed was evident, because he withheld
speech.

That situation had enough drawing power to bring the brother to the
cottage door; he appeared, his spider in his hand.

"Good morning, Usial," called Tasper. "I own up that you're a convincing
writer. According to your request, you see I'm giving you your right
name. The voters are giving you honors. Who knows what another issue of
_The Hornet_ may get for you?" Britt's tone was one of bluff sincerity.

Egypt's Pharaoh did not seem to be a bit put out because no one replied
to him in this astonishing levee. He descended from the porch and
strolled off toward Britt Block, puffing his cigar.

He found the cashier alone in the bank. Vaniman hastened to put in the
first word. "President Britt, I'm read