"You didn't say that when he praised your semaphore," cried Marion, with resentment. I hadn't intended any reflection on the quality of her pies, but it was some little time before she could understand that I really thought them to be infinitely superior to my mother's. "After dinner," she went on, "he said he wasn't in a hurry, so he'd just cut up some wood and do the stable work until you came home, for he wanted to see you." My curiosity was aroused, also my suspicions, for my wife's manner was distinctly ingratiating. That might mean either that she had some new project of her own in the background to submit to me, or that she was about to tack off in another direction in regard to one of mine, as she had done in the case of the cow. "About my semaphore?" I inquired warily. "So he said," she replied, with a tantalizing laugh. "He wants to--to--handle the county right!" My heart thumped; my brain seemed to turn a somersault. If Marion had not been swaying to and fro with her handkerchief covering her face as she struggled with her mirth I could not have concealed my exultation. Months before, the success of my device had led me to think of having it patented under the name of "The Eureka Non-Automatic Gate-Closing Attachment," but Marion had nipped my project in the bud. The butcher, too, when I asked his opinion, had chilled my enthusiasm by declaring that if my gate-attachment proved salable in this locality he would move to some other. Of course, that was before he had become expert in keeping his head out of the way of the sign-board, and while he still wore a strip of court plaster on the bridge of his nose. Now my judgment was vindicated. A man could surely sell one hundred semaphores at five dollars each in one county; ten counties would enable me to buy Waydean; ten more would pay for a train load of implements, as in my day dream of long ago; another ten would stock the farm with domestic animals; tens of hundreds of counties still remained to furnish the means for nebulous philanthropic schemes. Did I breathe hard, grow flushed or pale with excitement, or do anything to indicate that it was the moment of my triumph? No, I didn't. For one thing, I was sure Marion was keeping something from me; otherwise, why should it seem so funny to her? Until I understood what she meant, I must appear calm, even bored. "Well," I said, stifling a yawn, "I'll go and send him off. I wouldn't be bothered selling county rights; besides, the semaphore isn't patented." Marion looked puzzled. "Wait," she said hurriedly, "till I tell----" "I'll get rid of him first," I said, with determination, "and then you can tell me the rest." "But he's not to be sent off," she insisted. "Sit down, and I'll tell you everything. He's looking for a place." "A place!" I exclaimed, beginning to see light. "What has that got to do with us? When I proposed hiring a man you said we couldn't afford to hire more than a quarter or an eighth of a man."