“Have you met Joe, her father, since you’ve been in town?”

“No, sir.”

“Not surprising, and no great loss.  Joe is on the jump a lot—­geniusing around the country.  Joe’s a real genius.”

The young man looked straight into the fire and returned no comment.  He knew well the dry quality of Hexter’s satirical humor and perceived that the notary was indulging in that humor.

“Yes, Joe Harnden is quite an operator, son.  Jumps, as I have said.  A good optimist.  Jumps up so high every day that he can see over all the bothersome hills into the Promised Land of Plenty.  Only trouble is that Joe’s jumping apparatus is so geared that he only jumps straight up and lands back in the same place.  Now, if only he could jump ahead.”

Xoa had come in from the kitchen and was setting out a small table on which the pachisi board was ready for the evening’s regular recreation.  She broke in with protest.  “Amos, you shouldn’t make fun of the neighbors!”

“I’m complimenting Joe Harnden,” the Squire went on, with serenity.  “I’m saying that when he uses that inventive genius of his on his own jumping gear he’ll leap ahead and make good.  For instance, son, here’s an example.  Joe invented an anti-stagger shoe—­a star-shaped shoe—­to be let out at saloons and city clubs like they lend umbrellas for a fee—­and then the reformers went and passed that prohibition law.  Always a little behind with a grand notion—­that’s the trouble with Joe!”

“Amos, you’re making up that yarn about a shoe!” declared Xoa.

“Well, if it wasn’t an anti-stagger shoe, it was—­oh—­something,” insisted the Squire.  “At any rate, Joe was in my office to-day.  He’s home again.  He’s all cheered up.  He is taking town gossip for face value.”  The notary looked away from Vaniman and gave his wife an ingenuous glance.  “Of course, I don’t need to remind you, Xoa, speaking of gossip, that the folks will have it that Tasp Britt has put on that war paint so as to go on the trail of a Number Two.  And Joe says that, in picking Vona, Britt has picked right.  Joe’s a genius in inventing.  I’m expecting that he’ll now invent a lie about himself or Britt or somebody else to make that girl either sorry enough or mad enough to carry out what gossip is predicting.”

Xoa had seated herself at the small table and was vigorously rattling the dice in one of the boxes by way of a hint to the laggard menfolks.  “Women have a soft side, and men come up on that side and take advantage—­and Joe Harnden’s mealy mouth has always served him well with his womenfolks—­but I do hope Vona Harnden has got done being fool enough to galley-slave and sacrifice for the rest of her life,” sputtered the dame.  “Britt for her?  Fs-s-sh!” Her hiss of disgust was prolonged.  Then she rattled the dice more vigorously.

“It’s a mighty good imitation of a—­diamond-backed rattler, mother!  But come on over to the table, son!  She isn’t as dangerous as she sounds!” The Squire dragged along his chair.