ng him very seriously.

"I think he may be--for his 'Woman's Page.'"

"It is all wrong, you think?"

"What could a Yankee six-footer cousin of old Fisbee's know about
currant jelly and work-baskets?"

"You know about currant jelly and work-baskets yourself?"

"Heaven defend the right, I do not!"

"You are sure he is six feet?"

"You should see his signature; that leaves no doubt. And, also, his
ability denotes his stature."

"You believe that ability is in proportion to height, do you not?" There
was a dangerous luring in her tone.

His memory recalled to him that he was treading on undermined ground, so
he hastened to say: "In inverse proportion."

"Then your substitute is a failure. I see," she said, slowly.

What muffled illumination there was in their nook fell upon his face;
her back was toward it, so that she was only an outline to him, and he
would have been startled and touched to the quick, could he have known
that her lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears as she spoke the
last words. He was happy as he had not been since his short June day;
it was enough to be with her again. Nothing, not even Brainard Macauley,
could dull his delight. And, besides, for a few minutes he had forgotten
Brainard Macauley. What more could man ask than to sit in the gloom with
her, to know that he was near her again for a little while, and to talk
about anything--if he talked at all? Nonsense and idle exaggeration
about young Fisbee would do as well as another thing.

"The young gentleman is an exception," he returned. "I told you I owed
everything to him; my gratitude will not allow me to admit that his
ability is less than his stature. He suggested my purchase of a quantity
of Mr. Watts's oil stock when it was knocked flat on its back by two
wells turning out dry; but if Mr. Watts's third well comes in, and young
Fisbee has convinced me that it will, and if my Midas's extra booms the
stock and the boom develops, I shall oppose the income tax. Poor old
Plattville will be full of strangers and speculators, and the 'Herald'
will advocate vast improvements to impress the investor's eye.
Stagnation and picturesqueness will flee together; it is the history
of the Indiana town. Already the 'Herald' is clamoring with Schofields'
Henry--you remember the bell-ringer?--for Main Street to be asphalted.
It will all come. The only trouble with young Fisbee is that he has too
much ability."

"And yet the daily will not suc