irl was reacting on him in the way of more acute
punishment than he was dealing out to anybody just then, except to
Vaniman. Through the latter the girl was punished. But that punishment
had steeled her to the stand she was making in the case of Britt. The
god of the machine pondered on the case and constantly found himself in
a more parlous state of mind because he did ponder.

Mr. Harnden tried his best to cheer the morose Britt. Some days the
usurer-suitor wanted to cuff the optimist; some days he felt that he
would go crazy unless Harnden could extend some hope, suggest some way
of changing the girl's attitude.

All the time Mr. Harnden was very cheerful and extremely busy; his nag
kicked up the dust along all the roads. His book of lithographs was
dog's-eared with much thumbing, but he had served as a human vacuum
cleaner in sucking up most of the town orders. Mr. Harnden was very free
with information, customarily. But when folks asked him whatever in the
world he expected to do with those town orders he was reticent as to any
details of his plans. He considered that his optimism of faith in the
future of the town covered the matter. He said so. He let it go at that.

One day Harnden roamed far afield and went to the shire.

The next day he came back from the shire.

After supper he sat in a wicker chair on the lawn with Tasper Britt, who
was wearing a new suit of white flannel and who scowled when Vona passed
along the walk without even a glance in that direction, though Britt had
twitched up his trousers leg to show a particularly handsomely clocked
sock.

Mr. Harnden did a lot of talking that evening. Every now and then, as if
to fortify his optimistic courage, he declared, "After all, business
is business--and the trend of the times is to make the most of
opportunity."

Britt was showing interest in what Harnden was saying--interest and
satisfaction, too. But all at once that interest was diverted and the
smooth satisfaction was wrinkled by a scowl. Britt swore roundly and
struggled up from his chair.

Prophet Elias was passing along the street. He flapped his hand in a
greeting contemptuously indifferent and went on his way toward Usial's
cot.

"Oh! I was intending to tell you about him," avowed Mr. Harnden, "but
I've had more important things to talk over!"

Britt gave to this blunderheaded news purveyor the tail end of the
malevolent stare that he had been bestowing on the Prophet's back.

"I