Malone was genuinely surprised. He went very red in the face. “Yes,” he said thickly, “I’ll be sure to remember it.” Oliver apologized to Malone as they were on the point of separating in front of the house. They had traversed the hundred yards or more in silence. “I am sorry I spoke to you as I did, Mr. Malone. I hope you will overlook it.” Malone held out his hand. “I’ve been spoken to a good bit rougher than that in my time, Mr. Baxter, and never turned a hair,” he said good-naturedly. “I don’t blame you for calling me down. I guess I was fresh. But I assure you I didn’t mean to be.” “It’s my infernal temper,” explained Oliver, taking the man’s hand. “You would think that after twenty years’ training of the most drastic character I might be able to control it, wouldn’t you? But every once in a while it slips.” “Well, there’s no hard feelings on my part. Still I hope you don’t mind my saying that a lot of men have tried to knock my block off without success.” “All the more reason why I should apologize,” said Oliver, with his old, disarming smile. “Forget it,” said Mr. Malone magnanimously. A little later on Oliver sat on his front porch waiting for his guests to arrive. Mrs. Grimes, in her snug-fitting black silk dress, rocked impatiently in a chair nearby. The guests were late. “It’s Josephine Sage,” she observed crossly, breaking a long silence. Oliver was startled out of his reflections. “She’s the one that’s making ’em late. Mr. Sage was telling me the other day that actresses are always late to a party. He’s just got onto it, he says. He says it’s what they call an entrance, though what that means I don’t know.” He looked at his watch. “It’s only half-past seven, Aunt Serepta. They’re only fifteen minutes late. I’ve been losing my temper again,” he said gloomily. “Probably made an enemy of that detective, Malone.” “What difference does that make? He’s not a voter in this county,” said the old lady composedly. “Did you know that Pete Hines has gone away?” “I didn’t even know he’d come back,” said she. “Come back? What do you mean?” “He was away all last week. They say he’s making corn whisky somewhere up in the hills back of Crow Center. At any rate, he’s been peddling it around town for a couple of months.” “I thought it was gasolene he’s been selling.” “Maybe that’s why Abel Conroy calls it fire-water. Here they come. Goodness! The way that Parr boy drives! He ought to be locked up for—” But Oliver was at the bottom of the steps waiting for the automobile. It swung around the curve in the drive and came to an unbelievably gentle stop—almost what might be called a tender stop—in precisely the right spot. Oliver reached out his hand and opened the front door of the car without changing his position so much as an inch. “Perfect!” said Mrs. Sage, who sat beside the driver. “The best trained automobile in America,” said Sammy, with his customary modesty. “Kindness is what does it.”