"Oh, stow the rhetoric! We simply don't agree. It's happened before." Chantry laughed scornfully. "I tell you I respect him; but God Almighty wouldn't make me agree with him." "You're too mediaeval by half," Havelock mused. "Now, Ferguson was a knight of the future--a knight of Humanity." "Don't!" shouted Chantry. His nerves were beginning to feel the strain. "Leave chivalry out of it. The _Argentina_ business may or may not have been wisdom, but it certainly wasn't cricket." "No," said Havelock. "Chess, rather. The game where chance hasn't a show--the game of the intelligent future. That very irregular and disconcerting move of his.... And he got taken, you might say. She's an irresponsible beast, your queen." "Drop it, will you!" Then Chantry pulled himself together, a little ashamed. "It's fearfully late. Better stop and dine." "No, thanks." The big man opened the door of the room and rested a foot on the threshold. "I feel like dining with some one who appreciates Ferguson." "I don't know where you'll find him." Chantry smiled and shook hands. "Oh, I carry him about with me. Good-night," said Havelock the Dane. A JURY OF HER PEERS[11] [Note 11: Copyright, 1917, by The Crowell Publishing Company. Copyright, 1918, by Susan Glaspell Cook.] BY SUSAN GLASPELL From _Every Week_ When Martha Hale opened the storm-door and got a cut of the north wind, she ran back for her big woolen scarf. As she hurriedly wound that round her head her eye made a scandalized sweep of her kitchen. It was no ordinary thing that called her away--it was probably farther from ordinary than anything that had ever happened in Dickson County. But what her eye took in was that her kitchen was in no shape for leaving: her bread all ready for mixing, half the flour sifted and half unsifted. She hated to see things half done; but she had been at that when the team from town stopped to get Mr. Hale, and then the sheriff came running in to say his wife wished Mrs. Hale would come too--adding, with a grin, that he guessed she was getting scarey and wanted another woman along. So she had dropped everything right where it was. "Martha!" now came her husband's impatient voice. "Don't keep folks waiting out here in the cold." She again opened the storm-door, and this time joined the three men and the one woman waiting for her in the big two-seated buggy.