'Gene shifted from one foot to the other. He was beginning to accuse himself of adding new tribulation to Justine's heavy load. He had not anticipated such quick results from his onslaught of the night before, nor had he any means of knowing to what length the women might go in their abasement. That they had surrendered so abjectly had given him no little satisfaction until he had seen that Justine was distressed. "You'll have a good time, Justine. Ever'body does, I reckon. Seems like they want you to come purty bad, too," he said encouragingly. "They really did insist," she agreed, smiling faintly. Crawley's gaze wavered and then fell. Out in the barn-lot, later in the evening, he worked himself into a rare state of indignation. "If them folks don't treat her right over at the 'sociable' they'd oughter be strung up," he was growling to himself. "If I thought they wuz just doin' this to git a chanct to hurt her feelin's some way, I'd--I'd----" But he could think of nothing severe enough to meet the demand. Mr. Harbaugh did just as his wife expected he would do when she broke the news to him. He stormed and fumed and forgot his position as a deacon of the church. Two days passed before he submitted, and she was free to issue her invitations. Their social standing in the neighborhood was such that only the "best people" could be expected to enjoy their hospitality. "How air you goin' to invite 'Gene Crawley 'thout astin' all the other hired men in the township? He ain't no better'n the rest," argued Mr. Harbaugh sarcastically. "I'm not goin' to invite Mr. Crawley," said his wife firmly. "Well, then, what air you givin' the shindig fer? I thought it was fer the purpose o' squarin' things regardin' them two." "We are under no obligations to 'Gene. Besides, he's no gentleman. He ain't fit to step inside the parlor." "I noticed he stepped into one t'other night, all right," grinned Mr. Harbaugh. "I s'pose you are defending him," snapped his wife. "'Pears to me he c'n keer fer himse'f purty well. He don't need no defendin'. But, say--don't you think he'll rare up a bit if he don't git a bid to the party?" "Well, he won't take it out o' me," she spoke, meaningly. "Course not," he exclaimed. "That's the tarnation trouble of it; he'll take it out o' me." Mr. Harbaugh involuntarily glanced over his shoulder as though expecting Crawley to appear in the doorway as mysteriously as he had appeared on the night of the "meeting." "It don't make any difference. You'll have to stand it, that's all. I'm not goin' to have that low-down fool in _my_ house," was Mrs. Harbaugh's parting shot. The result was that Crawley was not invited--he had not expected to be--and Harbaugh felt obliged to "dodge" him carefully for the next two or three months.