"What do you mean?" Lydia looked a little frightened. "I mean that I'm going to show up his crooked deals with the Indians. I'm going to rip this reservation graft wide open. I'm not going to touch an acre of the land myself so I can go in with clean hands and I'm not going to forget that I came pretty close to being a skunk, myself." "Oh, but, Billy!" cried Lydia. "There's John Levine and all our friends--oh, you can't do it!" "Look here, Lydia," Billy's voice was stern, "are you for or against Indian graft?" Lydia drew a long breath but was spared an immediate answer for there was a knock on the door and Kent came in, followed shortly by Professor Willis. "Well," said Kent, after Lydia had settled them all comfortably, "I just left Charlie Jackson--poor old prune!" "Oh, how is he?" asked Lydia eagerly, "and what is he doing?" "He's pretty seedy," answered Kent. "He's been trying to keep the whites off the reservation by organizing the full bloods to stand against the half-breeds. But after a year of trying he's given up hope. The full bloods are fatalists, you know, and Charlie has gone back to it himself." "Charlie Jackson is an old schoolmate of ours." Lydia turned to Willis and gave him a rapid sketch of Charlie's life. The Harvard man was deeply interested. "Can't you get him back to his work with the doctor?" he asked Kent. Kent shook his head. "The only way to keep an Indian from reverting is to put him where he never can see his people or the reservation. Charlie's given up. He's drinking a little." "And still you folks will keep on, stealing the reservation!" exclaimed Billy. Kent gave Billy a grin, half irritated, half whimsical. "I know it's Sunday, old man, but don't let's have a sermon. You're a farmer, Bill, anyhow, no matter what else you try to be." "Thank God for that," laughed Billy. "My word!" ejaculated Willis. "What a country! You spout the classics on week days and on holidays you steal from the aborigines!" "Oh, here, draw it mild, Professor!" growled Kent. "Well, but it's true," exclaimed Lydia. "Where's our old New England sense of fairness?" "That's good too," said Kent. "Who was brisker than our forefathers at killing redskins?" "Altogether a different case," returned the Harvard man. "Our forefathers killed in self-defense. You folks are killing out of wanton greed." "That's the point, exactly," said Billy. Kent gave his cheerful grin. "Call it what you please," he laughed. "As long as the whites _will_ have the land, I'm going to get my share."