"I wonder if this newspaper will ever stop talking about that fellow's story," said he. "I read it over and I didn't see anything remarkable in it. Of course it's all right to feel a local pride in a thing, but gracious alive, we don't want to go into fits over it. Now, here's nearly half a column about it." "Let me see it," said Eva. He picked up the paper and held it out to her. She got off the piano stool, took the paper and stood near her father, under the hanging lamp. "Can't you find it? On the editorial page." "Yes, I have found it. But it is not written by the pen of local pride." "It is in the state paper." "Yes, but if you had read to the bottom you would have seen that it was from a New York paper." "Ah, well, it doesn't interest me, no matter what paper it is from." "What is it?" Mrs. McElwin asked, turning from the window. "Something more about Mr. Lyman's story," the daughter answered. "It appears to have stirred up quite a sensation," said Mrs. McElwin. "One of those happy accidents." "It was not an accident," the girl replied. "It was genius." "Come, don't be absurd," said her father. "There is such a thing as a man finding a gold watch in the road. I call it an accident. I had quite a talk with him in my private office before our relations became strained, and I found him to be rather below the average. He surely has but a vague and confused idea regarding even the simplest forms of business. But I admit that his story is all well enough, and so are many little pieces of fancy work, but they don't amount to anything. Educated man? Yes, that's all right, too, but the highways are full of educated men, looking for something to do. Sawyer is worth a dozen of him." Mrs. McElwin glanced at her daughter, as if she had heard a footstep on dangerous ground. She was not far wrong. "Sawyer is a man, ready--" "He has not shown it," the girl was bold enough to declare. She stood under the lamp and the newspaper rattled as she held it now grasped tightly. "Eva," said her mother, in gentle reproof, "don't say that." "But I want her to say it if she thinks it," the banker spoke up, almost angrily. "I want her to say it and prove it." "He proved it to me, but I may not be able to prove it to you. Mr. Lyman called him a coward and he did not resent it." "Lyman did? How do you know?" "I heard him." The banker blinked at her. "You heard him? When? And how came you to be near him?" "It was on the Sunday after the mar--the foolish ceremony. As Mr. Sawyer walked off with me from the church door Mr. Lyman joined us." "Joined you! The impudent scoundrel! What right had he to join you, and why did you permit it?" "He took the right and we couldn't help ourselves. At least I couldn't and Mr. Sawyer didn't try to." "I wish I had been there." "You were just in front, but you didn't look around." "Well, and then what happened?" "Why, during the talk that followed, Mr. Lyman called him a coward."