Harlan's arm--"he hasn't been broken
to the society bridle yet. He was allowing to me the other day that he
didn't propose to be, either."

Miss Presson had overheard.

Harlan, remembering, flashed a glance of rebuke and anger at the old
man. It was a shock to him to have his own sentiments thrust back at him
in that manner.

"We haven't found Mr. Harlan ungallant," protested Mrs. Presson. She
treated the matter in jest, though the young man's face did not indicate
that he especially appreciated the humor.

"Oh, he's probably just been playing 'possum--practising dissimulation,
getting used to being a politician! You be watching out, Lucretia. He'll
forget himself and make a bolt pretty soon. The test of the thing will
be in seeing whether he holds out or not!"

In his indignation, Harlan was too confused just then to grasp the fact
that his tormentor was craftily handing him over to the Presson
womenfolk, bound, branded, and supple--unless he proposed to merit his
grandfather's label in their estimation.

"Now, look here, grandfather"--he began, wrathfully; but the Duke pulled
him away, drowning his protests in a laugh.

"You have placed me in a ridiculous position, and that's a mighty mild
way to put it," complained the indignant victim, when they were outside.
"I don't understand, grandfather, why you do something to me every now
and then that knocks all the props out from under me. It isn't
decent--it's vulgar--it's shameful, the way you do some things!"

"Operate in a queer way, do I?" inquired the old man, blandly.

"You certainly do."

"Did you ever stop to think, boy, that human nature is a queer thing?"

"Whose human nature are you referring to--yours or mine?"

"You know what the old Quaker said to his wife: 'All the world's queer,
dear, except thee and me--and thee's a little queer!'"

The angry young man would have liked to get a little more light on the
question, but Chairman Presson was ready for them and hustled them into
the carriage. And on the ride to the station, during the journey by
train, at the convention city, there were other matters uppermost
besides a young man's pique.

CHAPTER XIV

THE BEES AND THE WOULD-BES

Men--a swarm of men--a hiveful of men. Lobbies, parlors, corridors,
stairways of the big hotel packed with men.

Men in knots, in groups, in throngs, pressing together, disintegrating
to form new groups, revolving in the slow mass of the herd, shaking
hands