hout straw. Deep in his
soul he knew the anguish before her and its vain, continual round of
fallen hopes. As the young Judge strutted up and down the Doctor's
office, the father in the elder man dominated him and a kind of
contemptuous pity seized him. Pity overcame rage, and the Doctor could
not even sputter at his son-in-law. "Fit and survive" kept repeating
themselves over in Dr. Nesbit's mind, and it was from a sad, hurt heart
that he spoke almost kindly: "Tom--Tom, my boy, don't be too sure of
yourself. You may keep fit and you may survive--but Tom, Tom--" the
Doctor looked steadily into the bold, black eyes before him and fancied
they were being held consciously from dropping and shifting as the
Doctor cried: "For God's sake, Tom, don't let up! Keep on fighting, son,
God or no God--you've got a devil--keep on fighting him!"

The olive cheeks flushed for a fleeting second. Van Dorn laughed an
irritated little laugh. "Well," he said, turning to the door, "be over
to-night?--or shall we come over? Anything good for dinner?"

A minute later he came swinging into his own office. He pulled a package
from his pocket. "Violet," he said, going up to her writing desk and
half sitting upon it, as he put the package before her, "here's the
candy."

He picked up her little round desk mirror, smiled at her in it, and
played rather idly about the desk for a foolish moment before going to
his own desk. He sat looking into the street, folding a sheet of blank
paper. When it became a wad he snapped it at the young woman. It hit her
round, beautiful neck and disappeared into her square-cut bodice.

"Get it out for you if you want it?" He laughed fatuously.

The girl flashed quick eyes at him, and said, "Oh, I don't know," and
went on with her work. He began to read, but in a few minutes laid his
book down.

"How'd you like to be a court stenographer?" The girl kept on writing.
"Honest now I mean it. If I win this election and get this job for the
two years of unexpired term, you'll be court stenographer--pays fifteen
hundred a year." The girl glanced quickly at him again, with fire in her
eyes, then looked conspicuously down at the keyboard of the writing
machine.

"I couldn't leave home," she said finally, as she pulled out a sheet of
paper. "It wouldn't be the thing--do you think so?"

He put his feet on the desk, showing his ankles of pride, and fingering
his mustache, smiling a squinty smile with his handsome, beady ey