"That may be. I am not looking at her family, but at her. She was spoiled, it is true, but she is developing into the highest type of American womanhood." "Yes, but I haven't come to discuss her. We were talking just now about the prospect of your going away, and the probability that you might not have money enough to settle in a city. Mr. McElwin is willing to help you toward that end, and has signed a check for five hundred dollars, made out in your name. Here it is." He handed the check to Lyman, who took it, looked at it and said: "He writes a firm hand. Money gives a man confidence in himself, doesn't it?" He held out the check toward Sawyer. The latter did not take it, and it fluttered in the air and fell to the floor. Sawyer took it up and put it on the table, with an ink stand on it to hold it down. "It is yours, Mr. Lyman; it is made out to you." "Upon the condition that I leave here and remain away as long as one year. Is that it?" "Well, yes." "I told you that I have enough money to burn a wet elephant. I haven't--I haven't enough to scorch a dry cricket." "Then you will accept the check," said Sawyer, brightening. Lyman had struck a match, as if to light his pipe. He took up the check and held it to the blaze. "Look out," he said, as Sawyer sprung to interfere. "Sit down." He took the cinders and wrapped them in a piece of paper, folding it neatly. "Give this to Mr. McElwin and tell him that I have cremated the little finger of his god, and send him the ashes," he said. Sawyer stood gazing at him in astonishment. "I told you to sit down. You won't sit down. And you won't take the god-ashes to the devotee. Come, that's unkind." "Sir, you have insulted me." "What, again?" "And you shall regret it. And you shall leave this town," he added, turning to go. "You have not only insulted me, but you--you have put an indignity upon Mr. McElwin." Indignity was rather a big word, coming from him unexpectedly out of his vague recollection, and he halted to stiffen with a better opinion of himself. "I say you shall leave this town." "I heard what you said. But I thought we were to be cool. Oh, pardon me, it was the fire that gave offense." "I say you are going to leave this town." "Good-bye, then." "I will make one more attempt," said Sawyer, standing in the door. "Don't exert yourself." "I will offer you a thousand dollars to go away." "My stock is rising." "Will you take it?" "The advance is too rapid. Can't afford to sell now." Sawyer began to sputter. "I'm done," he said. "I have no other proposition to make. But remember what I say. You are going to leave this town." "Then I may not see you again; good-bye." CHAPTER XVI. SAWYER'S PLAN. McElwin was engaged when Sawyer returned to the bank, but he soon cleared the room. "Well," he said, when the mule buyer entered. Sawyer sat down before he replied. "He refused." McElwin's feet scraped the floor. "Refused?"