"I think it’s a capital idea, don’t you, Frank?" Claire cried, in her quick, impulsive way. "There is something in it, no doubt," he admitted cautiously, smiling down at her with very different eyes from those Katherine had dreaded. "But I don’t think much could be accomplished by one lecture. If these people are to get anything, they’ve got to get it in good doses, ’repeat when necessary.’ You can’t be sure you’ve made your point, until you’ve hammered it in, given it what the journalists call ’a punch.’ This can only be done by repetition, emphasis. But a _course_ of lectures—with lantern-slides—a course extending through the winter—that would be a great scheme, I think." Katherine’s face fell. "We could never hope to have a _course_," she mourned. "Why not?" "The expense. Think what the cost would be!" "It would be cheaper, in proportion, than one." "In proportion, yes. But I doubt if we could raise the money for one, much less the course." Mr. Ronald’s eyes scanned her quizzically. "You should drill under Martha Slawson," he said with a touch of seriousness in his lighter manner. "She would never recognize the obstacle. She leaps it, or she mounts it, or she kicks it out of her way—but she never _admits_ it,—and the consequence is,—it isn’t there. Now, suppose you were not required to raise the price of the course. Suppose the price were guaranteed? Would you guarantee to raise the audience? Get enough people to pledge themselves to attend, so the lecturer would come up with the fair assurance that he’d face something beside empty benches?" "I could try." "How would you go about it?" "There’s a man named Buller——" "Yes, I know him. A bad lot! Got his hand chewed up in a fox-trap, while he was on his way to my Lodge, to fire it, for the purpose of revenging himself on my superintendent’s wife, Martha Slawson. Dr. Driggs told me about it. Gangrene set in, and the fellow’d have lost his arm, if not his life, if Dr. Ballard hadn’t operated as promptly and skilfully as he did. Yes, I know Buller." Katherine, considerably dashed, took up her theme again, notwithstanding. "He’s very ignorant, very debased, of course. Yet, I think, as Mrs. Slawson does, that he could be helped. He’s very low in his mind just now, because he thinks his neighbors shun him on account of his accident." For the first time she heard the hearty ring of Frank Ronald’s laugh. "Well, and this poor, abused soul is to aid you?—How?" "He owns a horse and buckboard. It occurred to me he might be willing to help us, to the extent of taking me about from house to house, when I go to canvass. Incidentally, if the people see he’s engaged in work we are interested in, it may re-establish him with them—with himself. He’s lost all self-respect, all self-reliance. Mightn’t it help him to get them back, if he felt he were concerned in some worthy enterprise, connected with reputable people?" "It might."