?"

"I can't find it's set down in my duties, marm; and from the acts
of the gen'ral run of cowards in this town I don't reckon any one
else will feel called on to get near enough to him to tell him. Oh
no! He'll fire himself like an automatic bomb. Prob'ly to-morrow.
By the looks of the sky it's goin' to be a nice, warm day."

She backed to the door, her eyes goggling.

"I ain't got any hard feelin's at all, marm. I pity you, and here's
a ten-dollar bill that I'll advance from the town. I reckon I'll wait
till after you're a widder before I take you to the poorhouse."

She clutched the bill and ran out. He watched her scurry down the
street with satisfaction wrinkling under his beard. "It was a kind
of happy idee and it seems to be workin'," he observed. "I've allus
thought I knew enough about cowards to write a book on 'em. We'll
see!"

That night there were no alarms in Smyrna. Cap'n Sproul, walking to
his office the next forenoon, mentally scored one on the right side
of his calculations.

When he heard Mr. Luce in the village square and looked out on him,
he scored two, still on the right side. Mr. Luce bore his grisly sack,
but he did not carry a stick of dynamite in his hand.

"Goin' to put my wife in the poorhouse, hey?" he squalled.

Cap'n Sproul scored three. "She got at him and unloaded!" he murmured.
"And it fixed him, if I know cowards."

"She's goin' to be a widder, hey? I'm afeard o' daminite, hey? I'll
show ye!" He swung the sack from his shoulder, and held it up in both
hands for the retreating populace to see. "I jest as soon flam this
whole thing down here in the ro'd. I jest as soon kick it. I jest
as soon set on it and smoke my pipe. I'm an outlaw and I ain't afeard
of it. You use me right and let my wife alone, or I'll show ye."

Cap'n Sproul, sailor-habit always strong with him, had for a long
time kept one of his telescopes hanging beside a window in the town
office. He took this down and studied the contour of the bumps that
swelled Mr. Luce's sack. His survey seemed to satisfy him. "Tone of
his talk is really enough--but the shape of that bag settles it with
me."

The next moment all of Smyrna that happened to be in sight of the
scene gasped with horror on beholding the first selectman walk out
of the town house and stalk directly across the square toward the
dynamiter.

"You go back," screamed Mr. Luce, "or I'll flam it!"

But no longer was Mr. Luce's tone dauntless and feroci