ther?"

"Right away," answered Mr. Dodd, breathlessly. He would have gone on to
exculpate himself, but Mr. Worthington's inexorable finger was pointing
at the door.

"If you are a friend of mine," said that gentleman, "and if you have any
regard for the fair name of this town, you will do so at once."

Mr. Dodd departed precipitately, and Mr. Worthington began to pace the
room, clasping his hands now in front of him, now behind him, in his
agony: repeating now and again various appellations which need not be
printed here, which he applied in turn to the prudential committee, to
his son, and to Cynthia Wetherell.

"I'll run her out of Brampton," he said at last.

"If you do," said Mr. Flint, who had been watching him apparently
unmoved, "you may have Jethro Bass on your back."

"Jethro Bass?" shouted Mr. Worthington, with a laugh that was not
pleasant to hear, "Jethro Bass is as dead as Julius Caesar."

It was one thing for Mr. Dodd to promise so readily a meeting of the
committee, and quite another to decide how he was going to get through
the affair without any more burns and scratches than were absolutely
necessary. He had reversed the usual order, and had been in the fire--now
he was going to the frying-pan. He stood in the street for some time,
pulling at his tuft, and then made his way to Mr. Jonathan Hill's feed
store. Mr. Hill was reading "Sartor Resartus" in his little office, the
temperature of which must have been 95, and Mr. Dodd was perspiring when
he got there.

"It's come," said Mr. Dodd, sententiously.

"What's come?" inquired Mr. Hill, mildly.

"Isaac D.'s come, that's what," said Mr. Dodd. "I hain't b'en sleepin'
well of nights, lately. I can't think what we was about, Jonathan,
puttin' that girl in the school. We'd ought to've knowed she wahn't fit."

"What's the matter with her?" inquired Mr. Hill.

"Matter with her!" exclaimed his fellow-committeeman, "she lives with
Jethro Bass--she's his ward."

"Well, what of it?" said Mr. Hill, who never bothered himself about
gossip or newspapers, or indeed about anything not between the covers of
a book, except when he couldn't help it.

"Good God!" exclaimed Mr. Dodd, "he's the most notorious, depraved man in
the state. Hain't we got to look out for the fair name of Brampton?"

Mr. Hill sighed and closed his book.

"Well," he said; "I'd hoped we were through with that. Let's go up and
see what Judge Graves says about it."

"Hold on," said