“Well, sir,” said Kinney, rising, “I guess it's old Willett himself. He's the owner; lives up to Portland, and been threatening to come down here all winter, with a party of friends. You just stay still,” he added; and he paid himself the deference which every true American owes himself in his dealings with his employer: he went to the door very deliberately, and made no haste on account of the repeated cries of “Kinney! Kinney!” in which others of the party outside now joined. When he opened the door again, the first voice saluted him with a roar of laughter. “Why, Kinney, I began to think you were dead!” “No, sir,” Bartley heard Kinney reply, “it takes more to kill me than you suppose.” But now he stepped outside, and the talk became unintelligible. Finally Bartley heard what was imaginably Mr. Willett's voice saying, “Well, let's go in and have a look at it now”; and with much outcry and laughter the ladies were invisibly helped to dismount, and presently the whole party came stamping and rustling in. Bartley's blood tingled. He liked this, and he stood quite self-possessed, with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and his elbows dropped, while Mr. Willett advanced in a friendly way. “Ah, Mr. Hubbard! Kinney told us you were in here, and asked me to introduce myself while he looked after the horses. My name's Willett. These are my daughters; this is Mrs. Macallister, of Montreal; Mrs. Witherby, of Boston; Miss Witherby, and Mr. Witherby. _You_ ought to know each other; Mr. Hubbard is the editor of the Equity Free Press. Mr. Witherby, of The Boston Events, Mr. Hubbard. Oh, and _Mr._ Macallister.” Bartley bowed to the Willett and Witherby ladies, and shook hands with Mr. Witherby, a large, solemn man, with a purse-mouth and tight rings of white hair, who treated him with the pomp inevitable to the owner of a city newspaper in meeting a country editor. At the mention of his name, Mr. Macallister, a slight little straight man, in a long ulster and a sealskin cap, tiddled farcically forward on his toes, and, giving Bartley his hand, said, “Ah, haow d'e-do, _haow_ d'e-do!”