She paced the corner of the veranda angrily, while Griswold groped for a solution of the problem. The telegram from Raleigh was certainly lacking in diplomatic suavity. It was patent that if the governor of North Carolina was not tremendously aroused, he was playing a great game of bluff; and on either hypothesis a prompt response must be made to his telegram. "I must answer this at once. He must not think we are so stupid in Columbia that we don't know when we're insulted. We can go through the side door to father's study and write the message there," and she led the way. "It might be best to wait and see what his letter is like," suggested Griswold, with a vague wish to prolong this discussion, that he might enjoy the soft glow of the student lamp on her cheek. "I don't care what his letter says; it can't be worse than his telegram. We'll answer them both at once." She found a blank and wrote rapidly, without asking suggestions, with this result: The Honorable William Dangerfield, Raleigh, N. C.: Your extremely diverting telegram in Appleweight case received and filed. CHARLES OSBORNE, Governor of South Carolina. She met Griswold's obvious disappointment with prompt explanation. "You see, the governor of South Carolina can not stoop to an exchange of billingsgate with an underbred person like that--a big, solemn, conceited creature in long frock-coat and a shoestring necktie, who boasts of belonging to the common 'peo-pull.' He doesn't have to tell anybody that, when it's plain as daylight. The way to answer him is not to answer at all." "The way to answer him is to make North Carolina put Appleweight in jail, for crimes committed in that state, and then, if need be, we can satisfy the cry for vengeance in South Carolina by flashing our requisition. There is a rule in such cases that the state having the heaviest indictments shall have precedence; and you say that in this state it's only a matter of a ham. I am not acquainted with the South Carolina ham," he went on, smiling, "but in Virginia the right kind of a ham is sacred property, and to steal one is a capital offense." "I should like to steal one such as I had last winter in Richmond," and Miss Osborne forgot her anger; her eyes narrowed dreamily at an agreeable memory. "Was it at Judge Randolph Wilson's?" asked Griswold instantly. "Why, yes, it was at Judge Wilson's, Mr. Griswold. How did you know?" "I didn't know; I guessed; for I have sat at that table myself. The judge says grace twice when there's to be ham--once before soup, then again before ham." "Then thanksgiving after the ham would be perfectly proper!" Miss Osborne was studying Griswold carefully, then she laughed, and her attitude toward him, that had been tempered by a certain official reserve, became at once cordial. "Are you the Professor Griswold who is so crazy about pirates? I've heard the Wilsons speak of you, but you don't look like that."