“Lord!” said Ben. His jaw dropped a little. He felt the inferiority of the ignorant man before education, the weakness of moral debility before moral vigor. He turned and took a few steps towards the town. The minister followed him amiably, and the two strode on in silence. “He don’t scare worth a cent,” thought Ben. Aloud he said:-- “So you’re goin’ to fight us, be you?” “Till I die,” answered Bayard solemnly; “and if I die!” “You won’t take no warnin’ then?” asked Ben with a puzzled air. “Neither from you, Ben, nor from any other man.” “The worse for you, then!” returned Ben in an ugly tone. “I’ll risk it,” replied Bayard serenely. “There’s them that says you’re goin’ to fight it out at the polls,” said Ben, more sullenly now than savagely. “Folks says you’re goin’ to get away Father’s license.” “I hadn’t thought of it till this minute!” exclaimed the preacher. “But it would be a good idea.” Ben made an inarticulate noise in his throat. Bayard instinctively thrust out his elbow; he thought for the moment that Ben would spring upon him out of sheer rage. They were out on the open downs, now; but still only the witness of the sky and sea and rocks remained to help him. “Look here,” said Ben, suddenly stopping. “Are you going to tell of me?” “That you were so uncivil as to put your hands on my throat, Ben?--I haven’t decided.” “Not that _I_ care a ----!” muttered Ben. “But Jane”-- “I shall never mention any circumstance of this--rather unpleasant evening--which would bring Miss Granite’s name into publicity,” replied the preacher quickly. “She is a good, modest girl. She should be sheltered and cared for. You might better toss a woman off Ragged Rock--as you intended to do by me--than to turn the gossip of Windover loose upon her.” “It _is_ a hell of a town, if you come to that,” said Ben with calm conviction. “She is much too good for you, Ben Trawl,” remarked Bayard quite politely, as if he were offering the other a glass of lemonade. “Lord!” groaned Ben, writhing under the minister’s manner. “Don’t you suppose that’s the worst on’t?” “I think I’ll cut across here towards the hotel,” observed Bayard pleasantly. “We seem to have talked out, for this time. Good-night, Ben.” “Say,” said Ben, “why don’t you spout temperance to me? Why ain’t you talked religion? Why ain’t you set out to convert me? I give you chance enough!” “You are an intelligent man,” replied the preacher; “you know what you are about. I don’t waste sacred powder on useless shot.” “Queer Dick, you,” mused Ben. “It’s just as I said. You don’t belong to _any_ kind of folks I ever see before. I can’t make you out.” “Next time you want to murder me, Ben,” called the minister cheerily, “don’t try anonymous traps! Show up like a man, and have it out in the open air!” He walked on towards the beach. Ben watched him for a perplexed and sullen moment, then took his course thoughtfully in the direction of the town.