“‘By the way, Mr. Sheriff,’ he began in a quiet, ingratiating voice, ’I hope I am not to be called as a witness in that boot-legging case.’

“Matters snarled at him.  ‘Pooh,’ he said angrily, ’you can’t blackmail me like that.  You can’t prove anything on me.  I reckon the people around here will take the word of the sheriff of their county against the booze fightin’ son of a Methodist preacher.’

“Kirke waved his hand airily.  ’Far be it from me to enter into any defense of my father’s son.  But a hundred and fifty bottles are pretty good evidence.  And speaking of witnesses, I have a hunch that the people of this county will fall pretty hard for anything that comes from the lips of the baby daughter of the district superintendent of the Methodist Church.’

“Matters hunched forward in his seat.  ‘Connie Starr,’ he said, in a hollow voice.

“Kirke swished the weeds with his cane,—­he has all those graceful affectations.

“Matters swallowed a few times.  ’Old man Starr is too smart a man to get his family mixed up in politics,’ he finally brought out.

“‘Baby Con is of age, I think,’ said Kirke lightly.  ’And she is very advanced, you know, something of a reformer, has all kinds of emancipated notions.’

“Matters whipped up and disappeared, and Kirke went to prayer-meeting.  Aunt Grace saw him; I wasn’t there.

“The next day, I met Matters on the street.  Rather, he met me.

“‘Miss Connie,’ he said in a friendly, inviting voice, ’you know there are a lot of things in politics that girls can’t get to the bottom of.  You know my record, I’ve been a good Methodist since before you were born.  Sure you wouldn’t go on the witness stand on circumstantial evidence to make trouble for a good Methodist, would you?’

“I looked at him with wide and childish eyes.  ’Of course not, Mr. Matters,’ I said quickly.  He brightened visibly.  ’But if I am called on a witness stand I have to tell what I have seen and heard, haven’t I, whatever it is?’ I asked this very innocently, as one seeking information only.

“’Your father wouldn’t let a young girl like you get mixed up in any dirty county scandal,’ he protested.

“‘If I was—­what do you call it—­subpoenaed—­is that the word?’ He forgot that I was working in a lawyer’s office.  ’If I was subpoenaed as a witness, could father help himself?’

“Mr. Matters went forlornly on his way and that night Kirke came around to say that the sheriff had informed him casually that he thought his services would not be needed on that boot-legging case,—­they had plenty of other witnesses,—­and out of regard for the family, etc., etc.

“Kirke smiled at him.  ’Thank you very much.  And, Matters, I have a hundred and fifty nice cold bottles in the basement,—­if you get too warm some summer evening come around and I’ll help you cool off.’

“Matters thanked him incoherently and went away.