clenched.

"You know the Commission acted in good faith," retorted Lyman. "You know
that all was fair and above board."

"Liar," shouted Annixter; "liar, bribe-eater. You were bought and paid
for," and with the words his arm seemed almost of itself to leap out
from his shoulder. Lyman received the blow squarely in the face and the
force of it sent him staggering backwards toward the wall. He tripped
over his valise and fell half way, his back supported against the closed
door of the room. Magnus sprang forward. His son had been struck, and
the instincts of a father rose up in instant protest; rose for a moment,
then forever died away in his heart. He checked the words that flashed
to his mind. He lowered his upraised arm. No, he had but one son.
The poor, staggering creature with the fine clothes, white face, and
blood-streaked lips was no longer his. A blow could not dishonour him
more than he had dishonoured himself.

But Gethings, the older man, intervened, pulling Annixter back, crying:

"Stop, this won't do. Not before his father."

"I am no father to this man, gentlemen," exclaimed Magnus. "From now on,
I have but one son. You, sir," he turned to Lyman, "you, sir, leave my
house."

Lyman, his handkerchief to his lips, his smart cravat in disarray,
caught up his hat and coat. He was shaking with fury, his protruding
eyes were blood-shot. He swung open the door.

"Ruffians," he shouted from the threshold, "ruffians, bullies. Do your
own dirty business yourselves after this. I'm done with you. How is it,
all of a sudden you talk about honour? How is it that all at once you're
so clean and straight? You weren't so particular at Sacramento just
before the nominations. How was the Board elected? I'm a bribe-eater,
am I? Is it any worse than GIVING a bribe? Ask Magnus Derrick what he
thinks about that. Ask him how much he paid the Democratic bosses at
Sacramento to swing the convention."

He went out, slamming the door.

Presley followed. The whole affair made him sick at heart, filled him
with infinite disgust, infinite weariness. He wished to get away from it
all. He left the dining-room and the excited, clamouring men behind him
and stepped out on the porch of the ranch house, closing the door behind
him. Lyman was nowhere in sight. Presley was alone. It was late, and
after the lamp-heated air of the dining-room, the coolness of the night
was delicious, and its vast silence, after the noise and fury of the