“Of course there's no LEGAL question,” said Harcourt almost sharply. “But as a matter of absurd report, I may want to contradict their insinuations. And YOU remember all the circumstances, don't you?” “I should think so! Why, my dear fellow, I've told it everywhere!--here, in New York, Newport, and in London; by Jove, it's one of my best stories! How a company sent me out with a surveyor to look up a railroad and agricultural possibilities in the wilderness; how just as I found them--and a rather big thing they made, too--I was set afloat by a flood and a raft, and drifted ashore on your bank, and practically demonstrated to you what you didn't know and didn't dare to hope for--that there could be a waterway straight to Sidon from the embarcadero. I've told what a charming evening we had with you and your daughters in the old house, and how I returned your hospitality by giving you a tip about the railroad; and how you slipped out while we were playing cards, to clinch the bargain for the land with that drunken fellow, 'Lige Curtis”-- “What's that?” interrupted Harcourt, quickly. It was well that the shadow hid from Grant the expression of Harcourt's face, or his reply might have been sharper. As it was, he answered a little stiffly:-- “I beg your pardon”-- Harcourt recovered himself. “You're all wrong!” he said, “that bargain was made long BEFORE; I never saw 'Lige Curtis after you came to the house. It was before that, in the afternoon,” he went on hurriedly, “that he was last in my store. I can prove it.” Nevertheless he was so shocked and indignant at being confronted in his own suppressions and falsehoods by an even greater and more astounding misconception of fact, that for a moment he felt helpless. What, he reflected, if it were alleged that 'Lige had returned again after the loafers had gone, or had never left the store as had been said? Nonsense! There was John Milton, who had been there reading all the time, and who could disprove it. Yes, but John Milton was his discarded son,--his enemy,--perhaps even his very slanderer! “But,” said Grant quietly, “don't you remember that your daughter Euphemia said something that evening about the land Lige had OFFERED you, and you snapped up the young lady rather sharply for letting out secrets, and THEN you went out? At least that's my impression.” It was, however, more than an impression; with Grant's scientific memory for characteristic details he had noticed that particular circumstance as part of the social phenomena. “I don't know what Phemie SAID,” returned Harcourt, impatiently. “I KNOW there was no offer pending; the land had been sold to me before I ever saw you. Why--you must have thought me up to pretty sharp practice with Curtis--eh?” he added, with a forced laugh.