Then the girl appealed to her father, mutely eager; denied sympathy, she was asking for protection.  But Mr. Harnden was distinctly not extending protection.  He was looking at Mr. Britt.  By avoiding what he knew the girl was asking for with all her soul in her eyes, Mr. Harnden was indulging his consistent selfishness; he hated to be worried by the troubles of others; others’ woes placed brambles on the pathway of his optimism.

“Tasper, you have certainly jumped the Harnden family—­jumped us complete!  You can’t expect a girl to get her voice back right away.  But I suppose it’s up to me to speak for the family.”

Vaniman stepped into the center of the room.  “I suppose so, too, Mr. Harnden.  I’ll confess that I came into your house this evening with that idea in my mind.”

Now the girl had eyes only for the one whom she recognized as her real champion; those eyes would have inspired a knight to any sort of derring-do, Frank was telling himself.

“That being agreed, I’ll speak,” stated Mr. Harnden, throwing back his coat lapels and displaying all his pencil quills.

“Just one moment, sir, till I have shown that Mr. Britt has no monopoly on courage—­seeing that he has put invasion of a quiet home on that plane.  I love your daughter.  I want her for my wife.  I came here to tell you so; but I was putting politeness ahead of my anxiety after you told me that you were engaged.”

“Harnden, that man hasn’t a cent in the world,” Britt declared.  “He sends away every sou markee he can spare from his salary.  He buys checks from me.  I can show ’em.”  Out came Britt’s big wallet; he threw down the paper-covered novel.

“I support my mother and I’m putting my young sister through school,” admitted the cashier.  “Mr. Britt is right.  But every time I buy one of his checks I buy a lot of honest comfort for myself.”

“I think, young man, that the Harnden family better not interfere with the comfort of the Vaniman family,” averred the father, loftily.  “I’d hate to think I was a party to taking bread from the mouths of a mother and a sister.  I’m sure Vona feels the same way.”

“Certainly!” supplemented Mrs. Harnden.  “I understand a woman’s feelings in such a matter.”

“Furthermore, I have discharged Vaniman for good and sufficient reasons,” said President Britt.  “He stands there busted and without a job.”

“That is quite true,” Vaniman admitted.  “I cannot remain with the Egypt Trust Company, but that’s a matter quite of my own choice.”

“Oh, it is, is it?” scoffed the president.

“Yes, sir!  I’ve had quite enough of your society.”

“Therefore, it seems to me that there isn’t much more to be said—­not here—­in a home that we try to make peaceful and happy at all times,” said Mr. Harnden, pompously.

“But there’s something more I’m going to say!” Britt was proceeding with malice in tones and mien.  He had been waving the canceled checks.  He pulled another paper from the wallet.  “You think the directors would keep you on in that job, do you, Vaniman, if you forced the issue?”