ly returned her grin. "I'll have you going again
before I'm through--remember that."

"By wiles, tricks and stratagems, I suppose."

"The same. By those I shall make poor George recant, and by those,
assuming you to be a woman with a fine sense of honor who will hold a
promise sacred, I shall have you going. And, mark my words, you'll be
going good, too!"

"Silly!"

She drew from the waste basket the maltreated _Sentinel_, unfurled it to
expose the offending matter, and smote the column with the backs of four
accusing fingers.

"There, my dear, is your answer. Now run along like a good boy."

"Silly!" said Mr. Evans, striving for a masterly finish to the unequal
combat. He arose, dissembling cheerful confidence, straightened the
frame of a steel-engraved Daniel Webster on the wall, and thrice paced
the length of the room, falsely appearing to be engaged in deep thought.

Miss Sheridan, apparently for mere exclamatory purposes, now reread the
fulmination of the absent partner. She scoffed, she sneered, flouted,
derided, and one understood that she was including both members of the
firm. Then her listener became aware that she had achieved coherence.

"Indeed, yes! Do you know what ought to happen to him? Every unprotected
female in this county ought to pack her trunk and trudge right up to
the Remington place and say, 'Here we are, noble man! We have read your
burning words in which you offer to protect us. Save us from the vote!
Let your home be our sanctuary. That's what you mean if you meant
anything but tommy-rot. Here and now we throw ourselves upon your
boasted chivalry. Where are our rooms, and what time is luncheon
served.'"

"Here! Just say that again," called Mr. Evans from across the room. Miss
Sheridan obliged. She elaborated her theme. George should be taken at
his word by every weak flower of womanhood. If women were nothing
but ministering angels, it was "up to" George to give 'em a chance to
minister.

So went Miss Sheridan's improvisation and Mr. Evans, suffering the
throes of a mighty inspiration, suddenly found it sweetest music.

When Miss Sheridan subsided, Mr. Evans appeared to have forgotten the
cause of their late encounter. Whistling cheerily he bustled into his
own office, mumbling of matters that had to be "gotten off." For some
moments he busied himself at his desk, then emerged to dictate three
business letters to his late antagonist.

He dictated in a formal and distant manner