“Say, Caine,” he asked, pointing, “Why do they choose one of the iron-tipped sticks sometimes and then use one of the brass headed ones next time, for just the same kind of a swat?” Caine gazed down at Caleb in genuine wonder; then dropped into a chair at his side. “Conover,” he declared, “You’re the only man on earth who never bores me. And it’s because you never by any chance happen to say or do what people have a right to expect you to.” “If it’s a riddle--” said Caleb, puzzled, as he looked away from the green. “It isn’t. It’s genius,” answered Caine. “Here I come to bring you the decision of the Committee. The decision that’s supposedly been keeping you on pins and needles. And, instead of dragging the news out of me by main force, you ask a question about a putting match.” “Oh, the decision?” returned Caleb, carelessly. “That’s all right. I’m to be kept on as a pop’lar, respected member. I knew that before I left the Committee room.” “You knew more than I did, then.” “I always do,” agreed Caleb with utter simplicity. “That’s why I’m where I am to-day. If I couldn’t size up folk’s plans before they made ’em, I’d still be a brakeman on the C. G. & X. or runnin’ the railroad saloon where I made my first cash. I’m kept in the Club by every vote except Blacarda’s.” “You listened?” cried Caine in wonder. “Son,” sighed Caleb, wearily, “You make me tired. Why should I a-listened when I knew already?” CHAPTER IV. CALEB CONOVER EXPLAINS “I suppose,” volunteered Caine, as he and Conover walked back to town together, “I suppose you know you behaved like a wild ass of the desert? That no man with an iota of breeding would ever have said the things you did, to the Committee members? I only mention it in case you don’t realize.” “Oh, I realize it all right,” Conover answered him. “It ain’t a parlor stunt to sling off your coat an’ grab a lady by the back hair. But if she happens to be drownin’, it’s the c’rrect play to make. It was a case for coat-sheddin’ an’ back-hair-grabbin’, to-day, at the Club. That’s why I did it. It landed ’em. If I’d got up and sprung a flowery speech, they’d a’ yawned and voted me out. If I’d put up a whine, they’d a’ been at my throat like a pack o’ hungry wolf-dogs. _Someone_ had to use a whip. An’ I wanted it should be _me_, not them, that used it. Which same it was.” “No one will deny that, I think,” said Caine, drily, “If a poll were taken just now for the best hated man in Arareek, you’d be elected by acclamation. You said some things that ought to have been said. But you said them so vulgarly that you seemed to be spitting diamonds.” “But I’m still in the Club. An’ they daren’t give me the cold shoulder at any more of their blowouts. They’ll still hate me like poison, maybe. But they’ll be civil; an’ when Desirée Shevlin goes there with Mrs. Hawarden, she won’t see folks treatin’ me like I was the original Invisible Man.” Caine whistled.