ection is coming. We'll get it into shape
here together, and then I'll cable that. I don't care for the money. And
I'll get our counting-room to see this scoundrel"--he picked up the paper
that had had fun with him--"and fix him all right, so that he'll ask for
a suspension of public opinion, and--You see, don't you?"

The thing did appeal to Burnamy. If it could be done, it would enable him
to make Stoller the reparation he longed to make him more than anything
else in the world. But he heard himself saying, very gently, almost
tenderly, "It might be done, Mr. Stoller. But I couldn't do it. It
wouldn't be honest--for me."

"Yah!" yelled Stoller, and he crushed the paper into a wad and flung it
into Burnamy's face. "Honest, you damn humbug! You let me in for this,
when you knew I didn't mean it, and now you won't help me out because it
a'n't honest! Get out of my room, and get out quick before I--"

He hurled himself toward Burnamy, who straightened himself, with "If you
dare!" He knew that he was right in refusing; but he knew that Stoller
was right, too, and that he had not meant the logic of what he had said
in his letter, and of what Burnamy had let him imply. He braved Stoller's
onset, and he left his presence untouched, but feeling as little a moral
hero as he well could.

XXXVIII.

General Triscoe woke in the bad humor of an elderly man after a day's
pleasure, and in the self-reproach of a pessimist who has lost his point
of view for a time, and has to work back to it. He began at the belated
breakfast with his daughter when she said, after kissing him gayly, in
the small two-seated bower where they breakfasted at their hotel when
they did not go to the Posthof, "Didn't you have a nice time, yesterday,
papa?"

She sank into the chair opposite, and beamed at him across the little
iron table, as she lifted the pot to pour out his coffee.

"What do you call a nice time?" he temporized, not quite able to resist
her gayety.

"Well, the kind of time I had."

"Did you get rheumatism from sitting on the grass? I took cold in that
old church, and the tea at that restaurant must have been brewed in a
brass kettle. I suffered all night from it. And that ass from Illinois--"

"Oh, poor papa! I couldn't go with Mr. Stoller alone, but I might have
gone in the two-spanner with him and let you have Mr. or Mrs. March in
the one-spanner."

"I don't know. Their interest in each other isn't so interesting to other