I will not stain my page with the fearful oath that Frank Slade yelled, rather than uttered, as, with clenched fist, he sprung toward Mr. Hargrove. But ere he had reached the unruffled old man--who stood looking at him as one would look into the eyes of a wild beast, confident that he could not stand the gaze--a firm hand grasped his arm, and a rough voice said: "Avast, there, young man! Touch a hair of that white head, and I'll wring your neck off." "Lyon!" As Frank uttered the man's name, he raised his fist to strike him. A moment the clenched hand remained poised in the air; then it fell slowly to his side, and he contented himself with an oath and a vile epithet. "You can swear to your heart's content. It will do nobody any harm but yourself," coolly replied Mr. Lyon, whom I now recognized as the person with whom I had held several conversations during previous visits. "Thank you, Mr. Lyon," said Mr. Hargrove, "for this manly interference. It is no more than I should have expected from you." "I never suffer a young man to strike an old man," said Lyon firmly. "Apart from that, Mr. Hargrove, there are other reasons why your person must be free from violence where I am." "This is a bad place for you, Lyon," said Mr. Hargrove; "and I've said so to you a good many times." He spoke in rattier an undertone. "Why WILL you come here?" "It's a bad place, I know," replied Lyon, speaking out boldly, "and we all know it. But habit, Mr. Hargrove--habit. That's the cursed thing! If the bar-rooms were all shut up, there would be another story to tell. Get us the Maine law, and there will be some chance for us." "Why don't you vote the temperance ticket?" asked Mr. Hargrove. "Why did I? you'd better ask," said Lyon. "I thought you voted against us." "Not I. Ain't quite so blind to my own interest as that. And, if the truth were known, I should not at all wonder if every man in this room, except Slade and his son, voted on your side of the house." "It's a little strange, then," said Mr. Hargrove, "that with the drinking men on our side, we failed to secure the election." "You must blame that on your moderate men, who see no danger and go blind with their party," answered Lyon. "We have looked the evil in the face, and know its direful quality." "Come! I would like to talk with you, Mr. Lyon." Mr. Hargrove, his son, and Mr. Lyon went out together. As they left the room, Frank Slade said: "What a cursed liar and hypocrite he is!" "Who?" was asked. "Why, Lyon," answered Frank, boldly. "You'd better say that to his face." "It wouldn't be good for him," remarked one of the company. At this Frank started to his feet, stalked about the room, and put on all the disgusting airs of a drunken braggart. Even his father saw the ridiculous figure he cut, and growled out: "There, Frank, that'll do. Don't make a miserable fool of yourself!"