"Well, I'm glad to hear it," the other responded. "But the point is this: is O'Connor likely to stop now? That's what we've got to consider." "It is no particular concern of mine what Mr. O'Connor does or where he stops," said the President, with magnificent but impractical dignity. "Well, it is of mine," Smith retorted, "because I want to know what he's going to do next. O'Connor has played several very shabby tricks on you and on the Guardian--things that must, even in his own eyes, seem discreditable. The fact that we know what a rascal he is doesn't help us much if we just sit here with our hands folded. And the fact that at last we have begun to defend ourselves will not endear us to him the more--on the contrary it will make him even more vicious toward us. No, he won't stop where he is; we shall hear from him again." Smith was possibly correct in his conclusion; but for the moment all was very quiet along the Salamander battle front--if battle front it were. So he went off to interview the vigilant and ambitious Ferguson; and for four days the home office saw him no more. In the many years during which the Guardian had conducted its sane and conservative business life, it had gathered into its grasp a great many desirable adjuncts and aids to the smooth and proper operation of a first-class fire insurance company. Its agency plant, while not one of the largest, was second to none in the character and ability of the agents themselves; its force of office and field men was adequate; even its stationery was simple and dignified and well adapted to the ordinary uses of the management.