"Then you haven't seen Johnstone's window?" "Johnstone's window? What does Johnstone want with a window?" "Put on your hat and come and see. Yes, come along. It concerns you." They walked down together in the gathering dusk of the afternoon, and when they came near Johnstone's, they saw his window lighted with a blaze of gas, and a little knot of curious people standing outside. The window was full of Dale's books, and the rows of green volumes were surmounted by a large placard--"Dale Bannister, the poet of Denborough--Works on Sale Here. Ask for 'The Clarion,' 'The Arch Apostates,' 'Blood for Blood'"; and outside, a file of men carried boards, headed, "The Rights of the People. Read Dale Bannister! No more Kings! No more Priests! Read Dale Bannister!" A curse broke from Dale. Philip smiled grimly. "Who's done this?" Dale asked. Philip pointed to a solitary figure which stood on the opposite side of the road, looking on at the spectacle. It was James Roberts, and he smiled grimly in his turn when he saw the poet and his friend. "He put Johnstone up to it," said Philip. "Johnstone told me so." Dale was aflame. He strode quickly across the road to where the Doctor stood, and said to him hotly: "This is your work, is it?" The Doctor was jaunty and cool in manner. "No, your works," he answered, with a foolish, exasperating snigger. "Aren't you pleased to see what notice they are attracting? I was afraid they were being forgotten in Denborough." "God only knows," said Dale angrily, "why you take pleasure in annoying me; but I have borne enough of your insolence." "Is it insolent to spread the sale of your books?" "You will make your jackal take those books down and stop his infernal posters, or I'll thrash you within an inch of your life." "Ah!" said Roberts, and his hand stole toward his breast-pocket. "What do you say?" "I say that if I can make a wretched snob like you unhappy, it's money well spent, and I'll see you damned before I take the books down." Dale grasped his walking-cane and took a step forward. The Doctor stood waiting for him, smiling and keeping his hand in his pocket. "Jim!" The Doctor turned and saw his wife at his side. Dale fell back, lifting his hat, at the sight of the pale distressed face and clasped hands. "Do come home, dear!" she said, with an appealing glance. Philip took Dale's arm. "Come," he said, "let's reason with Johnstone." Dale allowed himself to be led away, not knowing that death had stared him in the face; for it was a loaded revolver that Roberts let fall back into the recesses of his pocket when his wife's touch recalled for a moment his saner sense. The reasoning with Johnstone was not a success. Dale tried threats, abuse, and entreaties, all in vain. At last he condescended to bribery, and offered Johnstone twice the sum, whatever it might be, which he had received. He felt his degradation, but the annoyance was intolerable.