l a team
came tearing up to the gate, and a man with a scoop fireman's hat
on came running to the porch. The man saluted.

"Chief," he said, with the air of an aide reporting on the field of
battle, "that house and barn got away from us, but we fit well for
'em--yas s'r, we fit well! It is thought queer in some quarters that
you wasn't there to take charge, but I told the boys that you'd
prob'ly got good reasons, and they'll git over their mad, all right.
You needn't worry none about that!"

The Cap'n's sole reply was another of those hollow "unks!"

"But the boys is pretty well beat out, and so I've run over to ask
if you'll let us use your ten-dollar fine for a treat? That will help
their feelin's to'ards you a good deal, and--"

The Cap'n, without taking his eyes from the smug face of the man,
swung one of the buckets and let drive at him. It missed. But he had
got his range, and the next bucket knocked off the scoop hat. When
the Cap'n scrambled to his feet, loaded with the bed-wrench for his
next volley, the man turned and ran for his team. The bed-wrench
caught him directly between the shoulders--a masterly shot. The
trumpet flew wild, but by that time the emissary of the Ancients was
in his wagon and away.

"Aaron!" his wife began, quaveringly, but the Cap'n leaped toward
her, pulled the mouth of the puckering-bag over her head, and hopped
into the house. When at last she ventured to peer in at the
sitting-room window, he was tearing the book of "Rules of the Smyrna
Ancient and Honorable Firemen's Association," using both his hands
and his teeth, and worrying it as a dog worries a bone.

That was his unofficial resignation. The official one came as soon
as he could control his language.

And for a certain, prolonged period in the history of the town of
Smyrna it was well understood that Cap'n Aaron Sproul was definitely
out of public affairs. But in public affairs it often happens that
honors that are elusive when pursued are thrust upon him who does
not seek them.

VII

The moderator of the Smyrna town meeting held his breath for just
a moment so as to accentuate the hush in which the voters listened
for his words, and then announced the result of the vote for first
selectman of Smyrna:

"Whole number cast, one hundred thutty-two; necessary for a choice,
sixty-seven; of which Colonel Gideon Ward has thutty-one."

A series of barking, derisive yells cut in upon his solemn
announcement, and