"Don't," I interrupted again, rejoicing all the time at her evident anxiety, and blessing my stars for the luck they had brought me. "Why, Miss Cullen," I went on, "I've become so interested in your success and the licking of those fellows that I really think I'd stand about anything rather than that they should win. Yesterday, when Mr. Camp threatened to--" Then I stopped, as it suddenly occurred to me that it was best not to tell Madge that I might lose my position, for it would look like a kind of bid for her favor, and, besides, would only add to her worries. "Threatened what?" asked Miss Cullen. "Threatened to lose his temper," I answered. "You know that wasn't what you were going to say," Madge said reproachfully. "No, it wasn't," I laughed. "Then what was it?" "Nothing worth speaking about." "But I want to know what he threatened." "Really, Miss Cullen," I began; but she interrupted me by saying anxiously,-- "He can't hurt papa, can he?" "No," I replied. "Or my brothers?" "He can't touch any of them without my help. And he'll have work to get that, I suspect." "Then why can't you tell me?" demanded Miss Cullen. "Your refusal makes me think you are keeping back some danger to them." "Why, Miss Cullen," I said, "I didn't like to tell his threat, because it seemed--well, I may be wrong, but I thought it might look like an attempt--an appeal--Oh, pshaw!" I faltered, like a donkey,--"I can't say it as I want to put it." "Then tell me right out what he threatened," begged Madge. "He threatened to get me discharged." That made Madge look very sober, and for a moment there was silence. Then she said,-- "I never thought of what you were risking to help us, Mr. Gordon. And I'm afraid it's too late to--" "Don't worry about me," I hastened to interject. "I'm a long way from being discharged, and, even if I should be, Miss Cullen, I know my business, and it won't be long before I have another place." "But it's terrible to think of the injury we may have caused you," sighed Madge, sadly. "It makes me hate the thought of money." "That's a very poor thing to hate," I said, "except the lack of it." "Are you so anxious to get rich?" asked Madge, looking up at me quickly, as we walked,--for we had been pacing up and down the platform during our chat. "I haven't been till lately." "And what made you change?" she questioned. "Well," I said, fishing round for some reason other than the true one, "perhaps I want to take a rest." "You are the worst man for fibs I ever knew," she laughed. I felt myself getting red, while I exclaimed, "Why, Miss Cullen, I never set up for a George Washington, but I don't think I'm a bit worse liar than nine men in--" "Oh," she cried, interrupting me, "I didn't mean that way. I meant that when you try to fib you always do it so badly that one sees right through you. Now, acknowledge that you wouldn't stop work if you could?"