al fool of a Meader to accept what we offered him. You'll never
get a county jury to give as much."

"I did advise him to accept it," answered Austen.

"What's the matter with him?" the Honourable Hilary demanded.

"Well, judge, if you really want my opinion, an honest farmer like Meader
is suspicious of any corporation which has such zealous and loyal
retainers as Ham Tooting and Brush Bascom." And Austen thought with a
return of the pang which had haunted him at intervals throughout the
afternoon, that he might almost have added to these names that of Hilary
Vane. Certainly Zeb Meader had not spared his father.

"Life," observed the Honourable Hilary, unconsciously using a phrase from
the 'Book of Arguments,' "is a survival of the fittest."

"How do you define 'the fittest?'" asked Austen. "Are they the men who
have the not unusual and certainly not exalted gift of getting money from
their fellow creatures by the use of any and all weapons that may be at
hand? who believe the acquisition of wealth to be exempt from the
practice of morality? Is Mr. Flint your example of the fittest type to
exist and survive, or Gladstone or Wilberforce or Emerson or Lincoln?"

"Emerson!" cried the Honourable Hilary, the name standing out in red
letters before his eyes. He had never read a line of the philosopher's
writings, not even the charge to "hitch your wagon to a star" (not in the
"Book of Arguments"). Sarah Austen had read Emerson in the woods, and her
son's question sounded so like the unintelligible but unanswerable
flashes with which the wife had on rare occasions opposed the husband's
authority that Hilary Vane found his temper getting the best of him--The
name of Emerson was immutably fixed in his mind as the synonym for
incomprehensible, foolish habits and beliefs. "Don't talk Emerson to me,"
he exclaimed. "And as for Brush Bascom, I've known him for thirty years,
and he's done as much for the Republican party as any man in this State."

This vindication of Mr. Bascom naturally brought to a close a
conversation which had already continued too long. The Honourable Hilary
retired to rest; but--if Austen had known it--not to sleep until the
small hours of the morning.

It was not until the ensuing spring that the case of Mr. Zebulun Meader
against the United Northeastern Railroads came up for trial in Bradford,
the county-seat of Putnam County, and we do not wish to appear to give it
too great a weight in the annals of