A slow red flushed the Harvester's cheeks. He opened his lips and hesitated. At last he said, “I think perhaps her people prefer that she receive mail under her maiden name while with them. Miss Ruth Jameson, care of Alexander Herron, 5770 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, will reach her.” The doctor wrote the address, as if it were the most usual thing in the world, and asked the Harvester if he was ready to make the trip east. “I think we had best start to-night,” he said. “We want a day to grow accustomed to our clothes and new surroundings before we run up squarely against serious business.” “I will be ready,” promised the Harvester. He took Granny home, set his house in order, installed the man he was leaving in charge, touched a match to the heap in the fireplace, and donning the new travelling suit, he went to Doctor Carey's. Mrs. Carey added a few touches, warned him to remember about the forks and spoons, and not to forget to shave often, and saw them off. At the station Carey said to him, “You know, David, we can change at Wayne and go through Buffalo, or we can take the Pittsburg and go and come through Philadelphia.” “I am contemplating a trip to Philadelphia,” said the Harvester, “but I believe I will not be ready for, say a month yet. I have a theory and it dies hard. If it does not work out the coming month, I will go, perhaps, but not now. Let us see how many kinds of a fool I make of myself in New York before I attempt the Quakers.” Almost to the city, the doctor smiled at the Harvester. “David, where did you get your infernal assurance?” he asked. “In the woods,” answered the Harvester placidly. “In doing clean work. With my fingers in the muck, and life literally teeming and boiling in sound and action, around, above, and beneath me, a right estimate of my place and province in life comes naturally in daily handling stores on which humanity depends, I go even deeper than you surgeons and physicians. You are powerless unless I reinforce your work with drugs on which you can rely. I do clean, honest work. I know its proper place and value to the world. That is why I called what I have to say, 'The Man in the Background.' There is no reason why I should shiver and shrink at meeting and explaining my work to my fellows. Every man has his vocation, and some of you in the limelight would cut a sorry figure if the man in the background should fail you at the critical moment. Don't worry about me, Doc. I am all serene. You won't find I possess either nerves or fear. 'Be sure you are right, and then go ahead,' is my law.” “Well I'll be confounded!” said the doctor. In a large hall, peopled with thousands of medical men, the name of the Harvester was called the following day and his subject was announced. He arose in his place and began to talk. “Take the platform,” came in a roar from a hundred throats. The Harvester hesitated. “You must, David,” whispered Carey.