Somebody handed to Mr. Jones his whip and he inspected it carefully.  “Of course, there’s more than one way of fighting a man—­and I have my own notions—­but maybe I’m wrong.”

“Eli has observed many a dog-fight,” Squire Hexter remarked; “and, so far as he sees, the attacking dog doesn’t get much out of the fracas except a ripped ear and a raw reputation in the neighborhood.”  He marched to Vaniman, took that perturbed young man by the arm, and said that Xoa would be waiting supper.

CHAPTER VII

SQUARED OFF AND ALL SET

As Squire Hexter and Vaniman walked on together the notary deferred comment on the recent happenings, as if he hoped that the cashier would open up on the topic.  But Frank was grimly silent.

Therefore the Squire broke the ice.  “What kind of a partner does Tasp Britt make in a polka, son?  I saw you and him going at it pretty briskly.”

“I stopped him from making a fool of himself.”

“Quite a contract, boy!  Quite a contract!  And when you got to the matter of his purple whiskers and his lamp-mat hair—­”

“I said nothing to Mr. Britt on such a ridiculous topic—­certainly not, sir!”

“And yet you brag that you have stopped him from making a fool of himself,” purred the Squire.  “Tut!  Tut!  He’s worse than ever.  I heard him tell you that you’re discharged from the bank.”

“Yes, I heard him, too!”

“I didn’t catch what you answered back.”

“I told him I should ask the directors to decide that matter.”

“Quite right!  You’re sure of one vote for your side—­that’s mine!  And I think that when President Britt considers that he has no other charge against you except that you took away a horsewhip that he was using not wisely but too well—­”

“I struck him across the mouth.”

“Oh, I missed that,” said the Squire, regretfully.  “Why the pat?”

“I could not express my feelings in any other way.  As to what those feelings were and why he stirred them, I’ll have to ask you to excuse me, Squire Hexter.  If I were going to stay in the bank I would explain the matter to you and to the directors.  But I’m going to resign.  Under these conditions, nobody has the right to tear the heart out of me and stick it up for a topic of conversation.”

The Squire glanced sideways at the convulsed face of the cashier and opened his eyes wide; but he promptly hid his wonderment and checked an exclamation that sounded like a question.  “I reckon all of us better wait till morning, son—­Tasper and you and I and all the rest.”  He looked up at the bright stars in a hard sky.  “A snappy night like this will cool things off considerable.”

“I’ll wait till morning, sir!  Then I propose to resign,” Frank insisted.

“Don’t say anything like that in front of Xoa,” pleaded Squire Hexter.  “I don’t ever want to see again on her face the look she wore when she followed our own Frank to the cemetery; now that she has sort of adopted you, boy, I’m afraid she’ll have the same look if she had to follow you to Ike Jones’s stage.”