ction with the new road in order to avoid some obstructions that
would entail extra expense on the town of Smyrna.

Selectman Trufant, of Vienna, was equally as solicitous about saving
expense on behalf of his own town, and refused to swing his road to
meet Smyrna's highway. Result: the two pieces of highway came to the
town line and there stopped doggedly. There were at least a dozen
rods between the two ends. To judge from the language that the two
town officers were now exchanging across the granite post, it seemed
likely that the roads would stay separated.

"Our s'leckman can outtalk him three to one," confided one of the
Smyrna supporters to Constable Nute. "I never heard deep-water
cussin' before, with all the trimmin's. Old Trufant ain't got
northin' but side-hill conversation, and I reckon he's about run
down."

Constable Nute should have awaited more fitting opportunity, but
Constable Nute was a rather direct and one-ideaed person. As manager
of the town hall he had business to transact with the first selectman,
and he proceeded to transact it.

"Mister S'leckman," he shouted, "I want to introduce you to
Perfessor--Perfessor--I ain't got your name yit so I can speak it,"
he said, turning to his passenger.

"Professor Derolli," prompted the passenger, flicking his cigarette
ash.

Cap'n Sproul merely shot one red glance over his shoulder, and then
proceeded with his arraignment of Vienna in general--mentally,
morally, socially, politically, and commercially.

"The perfessor," bawled Constable Nute, unable to get his team very
near the selectman on account of the upheaved condition of the road,
"has jest arranged with me to hire the town hall for a week, and he
wants to arrange with the selectmen to borrow the use of the graveyard
for a day or so."

The constable's vociferousness put the Cap'n out of voice, and he
whirled to find that his auditors had lost all interest in the road
dispute, and naturally, too.

"To borrow the use of the graveyard, said privilege bein' throwed
in, considerin' that he hires the town hall for a week," repeated
the constable.

Cap'n Sproul hated cigarettes; and he hated slim, pale young men who
dressed foppishly, classing all such under the general term "dude."
The combination of the two, attending the interruption of his
absorbing business of the moment, put a wire edge on his temper.

"Graveyard! Yes!" he roared. "I'll appoint his funeral for two
o'clock this afterno