straight up from
his forehead. Miss Defourchet was disappointed a little: the best of
women like to patronize, and she had meant to meet him as an equal,
recognize him in this new atmosphere of refinement into which he was
brought, set him at his ease, as she did Andy, by a few quiet words. But
he was her equal: more master of this or any occasion than she, because
so thoroughly unconscious, standing on something higher. She suspected,
too, he had been used to a life as cultivated as this, long ago, by the
low, instructed voice, the intangible simplicity of look and word
belonging to the bred gentleman.

"They may fuss as they please about him now," chuckled Andy to himself,
"but darn a one of 'em would have smuggled him into them clothes. Spruce
they look, too; baggy about the knees, maybe. No, thank you, Miss; I've
had sufficient," putting down the wine he had barely sipped,--groaning
inwardly; but he knew what was genteel, I hope, and that comforted him
afterwards.

"The model is ready," said Starke to Dr. Bowdler. "We are keeping your
friends waiting."

"No. It is Aikens who is not here. You know him? If the thing satisfies
him, he'll bring it into his factories over the Delaware, and make Johns
push it through at Washington. He's a thorough-goer, Aikens. Then it
will be a success. That's Johns,--that burly fellow in the frock-coat.
You have had the model at Washington, I think you told me, Mr. Starke?"

"Three years ago. I exhibited it before a committee. On the Capitol
grounds it was."

"Well?"

"Oh, with success, certainly. They brought in a bill to introduce it
into the public works, but it fell through. Woods brought it in. He was
a young man: not strong, maybe. That was the reason they laughed, I
suppose. He tried it for two or three sessions, until it got to be a
sort of joke. I had no influence. That has been the cause of its
failure, always."

His eyes dropped; then he suddenly lifted his hand to his mouth, putting
it behind him again, to turn with a smile when Miss Defourchet addressed
him. Dr. Bowdler started.

"Look at the blood," he whispered to Friend Turner. "He bit his finger
to the bone."

"I know," said the old Quaker. "The man is quiet from inanition and
nervous tension. This trial means more to him than we guess. Get him out
of this crowd."

"Come, Mr. Starke," and the Doctor touched his arm, "into my library.
There are some curious plates there which"--

Andy had been gulping for