"We cannot all do that," Ryder finally said, with calmness. "It is ridiculous to think of the ladies leaving on such short notice--especially those who have lived here for any length of time." "And there's one car on that train, a combination day coach and smoker. It wouldn't hold a third of the guests in this house to-night," was the positive declaration of another man. "Besides," Ryder pursued, "how would we get our baggage away at this hour? If we left it, thieves would ransack every trunk in the house. This Bangs is evidently a slippery customer. He could not be found, it is likely, when it came time to apportion damages." "You are right, suh," said Colonel Brack. "You are Mr. John Ryder, of New York?" Ryder acknowledged it. "My wife and I have just arrived, intending to remain a fortnight or so. I don't fancy having our visit spoiled in this way." "Then, Mr. Ryder," said the colonel pompously, "I wish you would come into the café with a number of us older guests, suh, where we will hold a council of war." The colonel could scarcely conceive of any discussion being official out of sight of a bar. "We cannot be driven out of this hotel in this way. We must plan some means of thwarting Bangs, suh." "We'd better chip in and pay his rent for him," suggested one compromising individual, bent on cutting the Gordian knot with one simple stroke. "I understand," said the colonel hastily, "that he is at least three months behind in his rent. That would never do. And it is not because he is unable to pay. The house is well patronized and he collects his money promptly. It is merely a personal fight between him and Giddings, who, I judge, desires to break this fellow's connection with Pinewood Inn. I never did like the dog." "Giddings should come down here and attend to the matter himself, then," said another of the angry guests. "I do not presume for a moment," said the colonel, starting for the barroom, "that Giddings dreamed Bangs would do this. No, suh! No gentleman could imagine such a dastardly thing." "But it seems to have been in the manager's mind for some time," Ryder interposed. "He has allowed his coal to run so low that there is not enough, he now says, to last the night through." "Maybe he is lying," Jimson suggested. "No," asserted some one. "He's not lying now, for once in his life. He's telling the truth this time--but only because the truth is meaner than any lie he could possibly concoct." "He has planned to get back at Giddings and the estate by injuring the reputation of the hotel. Why, gentlemen," pursued the wrathful colonel, all bristling like an enraged turkeycock, "this house has been my home for fourteen years. I am the oldest inhabitant. Mr. Jimson, here, has an invalid wife. She cannot be taken out at this hour of the night. And the house has been her home for eight years. It is brutal--positively brutal!"