"No?" Hezekiah's regret had the ring of sincerity. "In a friendly spirit towards you, my boy," he urged, "I would advise against the development of an hostile feeling towards Mr. Dale. He had no more to do with that accident than the man in the moon." "I know it," admitted Joe. "The institution of an action at law is an expensive proceeding. As a lawyer I warn you that the outcome would be extremely uncertain. Who can tell what a jury will do?" Hezekiah shook his head solemnly, thereby registering his grave doubts of the action of twelve men good and true. "Institute an action," repeated Joe, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Say, Uncle, when I sue that old skate, it sure is going to be some case." Hezekiah waxed indignant. This may have been due either to Joe's intimation of relationship to himself or to the opprobrious designation of his client as an old skate. "Don't mislead yourself," he exclaimed peevishly. "You will be thrown out of court." Joe ruffled visibly. "Who is going to throw me out of court?" he demanded. "Obadiah Dale?" Another idea struck him. He gave the lawyer a most threatening and pugnacious glance. "Maybe you think _you_ can do it?" Hezekiah's amazement at the suspicion that either he or his client contemplated physical violence upon this young giant, swathed in bandages, was extreme. "Gorry diamonds, you must be crazy," he gasped, and then the other's point of view came to him. He burst into a big booming peal of honest amusement, an infectious laugh which brought instant peace. "My friend," he chuckled, "you misunderstand me. I attempted to suggest that in view of the evidence which I can produce, a court would refuse to consider your claim." "Not with the witness I have," Joe insisted. "Well, what about this wonderful witness of yours?" chuckled Hezekiah, comfortable in the assurance of holding the master hand. "My witness" (the calmness of his voice did not quite conceal a note of exultation in it) "is Virginia Dale." CHAPTER VIII ANOTHER OPPORTUNITY In the Dale home, dinner was served in the middle of the day on Sunday, and Serena caused the meal to partake of the nature of a banquet. Abstemious in week day luncheons, Obadiah succumbed to the flesh pots on the seventh day and thereafter relapsed into slumber during digestion even as a boa-constrictor. He was sleeping off his Sunday engorgement in a porch chair. His head drooped awkwardly and he had slumped into his best clothes, while from time to time he choked and coughed and made weird noises. All about him lay the peace of a summer Sabbath broken only by the low hum of the bees gathering sweetness from the blooming honeysuckle vine near by. Only the energetic resisted the combined attacks of plenteousness and the somnolent afternoon.