denly asked.

"You must remember him. It was his father that was killed by the
railway the day we all went on that excursion to Indianapolis."

"Dorn the carpenter," said Jane. "Yes--I remember." Her face grew
dreamy with the effort of memory. "I see it all again. And there was
a boy with a very white face who knelt and held his head."

"That was Victor," said Hull.

"Yes--I remember him. He was a bad boy--always fighting and robbing
orchards and getting kept after school."

"And he's still a bad boy--but in a different way. He's out against
everything civilized and everybody that's got money."

"What does he do? Keep a saloon?"

"No, but he spends a lot of time at them. I must say for him that he
doesn't drink--and professes not to believe in drink. When I pointed
out to him what a bad example he set, loafing round saloons, he laughed
at me and said he was spending his spare time exactly as Jesus Christ
did. 'You'll find, Davy, old man,' he said, 'if you'll take the
trouble to read your Bible, that Jesus traveled with publicans and
sinners--and a publican is in plain English a saloonkeeper.'"

"That was very original--wasn't it?" said Jane. "I'm interested in
this man. He's--different. I like people who are different."

"I don't think you'd like him, Victor Dorn," said David.

"Don't you?"

"Oh, yes--in a way. I admire him," graciously. "He's really a
remarkable fellow, considering his opportunities."

"He calls you 'Davy, old man,'" suggested Jane.

Hull flushed. "That's his way. He's free and easy with every one. He
thinks conventionality is a joke."

"And it is," cried Miss Hastings.

"You'd not think so," laughed Hull, "if he called you Jane or Jenny or
my dear Jenny half an hour after he met you."

"He wouldn't," said Miss Hastings in a peculiar tone.

"He would if he felt like it," replied Hull. "And if you resented it,
he'd laugh at you and walk away. I suspect him of being a good deal of
a poseur and a fakir. All those revolutionary chaps are. But I
honestly think that he really doesn't care a rap for classes--or for
money--or for any of the substantial things."

"He sounds common," said Miss Hastings. "I've lost interest in him."
Then in the same breath: "How does he live? Is he a carpenter?"

"He was--for several years. You see, he and his mother together
brought up the Dorn family after the father was killed. They didn't
get a cent of damages from the railroa