u were not dancing."

"No, I don't care much for it, and Toot--Mr. Wambush--had sprained his
foot and said he'd rather not dance."

"That was very kind of you. Not many girls would be so considerate of
a fellow's feelings."

She looked down at a brindled cat that came into the room and rubbed
its side against her skirt.

"I don't think girls care enough about the feelings of men," she
answered, after a little pause. "If they would treat them nicer they
would be better."

"You think women can reform men then?"

"Yes, I do; though a man that drinks is mighty hard to manage.
Sometimes they can't help it, and they drink more when women show that
they have lost confidence in them."

He liked what she had said, notwithstanding its being an indirect
defence of Wambush, but was prevented from answering by hearing his
name angrily called in the street. This was followed by heavy
footsteps on the veranda.

"Whar is that d----d livery man?" The voice was now in the hall.

"It's Toot Wambush!" cried the girl, rising quickly and turning to the
door. "I am afraid he--" Just then the young ruffian entered. His
red face and unsteady walk showed that he had been drinking.

"Say, Miss Harriet, have you seed--oh, heer you are!"--he broke off as
he noticed Westerfelt. "You are the one man in the United Kingdom that
I want to see jest at this present moment. Bill Washburn 'lowed he had
orders from you not to let me have anything out'n yore shebang; is that
so?"

"I'd rather not talk business here," replied Westerfelt. He rose and
coolly looked Wambush in the face. "If you say so, we'll walk across
to the stable."

"No," sneered Wambush, "this heer's good enough fur me; I hain't got no
secrets frum them mount'in men out thar nur this young lady. I jest
want ter know now--right _now_, by Glory! ef you ever give sech orders."

"Do you think this is a proper place to settle such a matter?" calmly
asked Westerfelt.

"D----d you; you are a coward; you are afeerd to say so!"

Harriet Floyd, with a white, startled face, tried to slip between the
two men, but Wambush roughly pushed her aside.

"You _are_ afeerd!" he repeated, shaking his fist in Westerfelt's face.

"No, I'm not," replied Westerfelt. The corners of his mouth were drawn
down and his chin was puckered. "I have fought some in my life, and
sometimes I get as mad as the next one, but I still try to be decent
before ladies. This is no place to settle a