“That was very kind of you.  Not many girls would be so considerate of a fellow’s feelings.”

She looked down at a brindled cat that came into the room and rubbed its side against her skirt.

“I don’t think girls care enough about the feelings of men,” she answered, after a little pause.  “If they would treat them nicer they would be better.”

“You think women can reform men then?”

“Yes, I do; though a man that drinks is mighty hard to manage.  Sometimes they can’t help it, and they drink more when women show that they have lost confidence in them.”

He liked what she had said, notwithstanding its being an indirect defence of Wambush, but was prevented from answering by hearing his name angrily called in the street.  This was followed by heavy footsteps on the veranda.

“Whar is that d——­d livery man?” The voice was now in the hall.

“It’s Toot Wambush!” cried the girl, rising quickly and turning to the door.  “I am afraid he—­” Just then the young ruffian entered.  His red face and unsteady walk showed that he had been drinking.

“Say, Miss Harriet, have you seed—­oh, heer you are!”—­he broke off as he noticed Westerfelt.  “You are the one man in the United Kingdom that I want to see jest at this present moment.  Bill Washburn ’lowed he had orders from you not to let me have anything out’n yore shebang; is that so?”

“I’d rather not talk business here,” replied Westerfelt.  He rose and coolly looked Wambush in the face.  “If you say so, we’ll walk across to the stable.”

“No,” sneered Wambush, “this heer’s good enough fur me; I hain’t got no secrets frum them mount’in men out thar nur this young lady.  I jest want ter know now—­right now, by Glory! ef you ever give sech orders.”

“Do you think this is a proper place to settle such a matter?” calmly asked Westerfelt.

“D——­d you; you are a coward; you are afeerd to say so!”

Harriet Floyd, with a white, startled face, tried to slip between the two men, but Wambush roughly pushed her aside.

“You are afeerd!” he repeated, shaking his fist in Westerfelt’s face.

“No, I’m not,” replied Westerfelt.  The corners of his mouth were drawn down and his chin was puckered.  “I have fought some in my life, and sometimes I get as mad as the next one, but I still try to be decent before ladies.  This is no place to settle a difficulty.”

“Will you do it outside, then?” sneered Wambush.

Westerfelt hesitated, and looked at the crowd that filled the door and stood peering in at the window.  Mrs. Floyd was running up and down in the hall, excitedly calling for Harriet, but the crowd was too anxious to hear Westerfelt’s reply to notice her.

“If nothing else will suit you, yes,” answered Westerfelt, calmly.  “I don’t think human beings ought to spill blood over a matter of business, and I don’t like to fight a man that’s drinking, but since you have behaved so in this lady’s presence, I’m really kinder in the notion.”