ruminates upon a marvel.

"--and I happen to know that it isn't well for--that is, she doesn't
care to see strangers, particularly from New York."

The old man stared. "Are you a gentleman?" he asked with abrupt
surprise.

"A gentleman?" repeated Banneker, taken aback.

"I beg your pardon," said the visitor earnestly. "I meant no offense.
You are doubtless quite right. As for any intrusion, I assure you there
will be none."

Banneker nodded, and with that nod dismissed the subject quite as
effectually as Mr. Horace Vanney himself could have done. "Did you
attend all the injured?" he asked.

"All the serious ones, I think."

"Was there a young girl among them, dark and good-looking, whose name
began--"

"The one my addle-brained young nephew has been pestering me about? Miss
I. O. W.?"

"Yes. He reported her to me."

"I handled no such case that I recall. Now, as to your own helpfulness,
I wish to make clear that I appreciate it."

Mr. Vanney launched into a flowery tribute of the after-dinner variety,
leaning forward to rest a hand upon Banneker's desk as he spoke. When
the speech was over and the hand withdrawn, something remained among the
strewn papers. Banneker regarded it with interest. It showed a blotch of
yellow upon green and a capital C. Picking it up, he looked from it to
its giver.

"A little tribute," said that gentleman: "a slight recognition of your
services." His manner suggested that hundred-dollar bills were
inconsiderable trifles, hardly requiring the acknowledgment of thanks.

In this case the bill did not secure such acknowledgment.

"You don't owe me anything," stated the agent. "I can't take this!"

"What! Pride? Tut-tut."

"Why not?" asked Banneker.

Finding no immediate and appropriate answer to this simple question, Mr.
Vanney stared.

"The company pays me. There's no reason why you should pay me. If
anything, I ought to pay you for what you did at the wreck. But I'm not
proposing to. Of course I'm putting in my report a statement about your
help."

Mr. Vanney's cheek flushed. Was this composed young hireling making
sport of him?

"Tut-tut!" he said again, this time with obvious intent to chide in his
manner. "If I see fit to signify my appreciation--remember, I am old
enough to be your father."

"Then you ought to have better judgment," returned Banneker with such
candor and good-humor that the visitor was fairly discomfited.

An embarrassing silence--embarrassin