e fired the words at them all like a charge of
shot. There was a pause of a second, then the laughter and mocking
were recommencing. But Anderson took advantage of the lull.

"See here, boys," he shouted, "there's been enough of this. What is
it to you whether he had a dozen elephants and rode them all at once,
and had a circus every day in the week with a dozen tame bears thrown
in? Clear out and go home and get your dinners. Clear out! Vamoose!
Scatter!" His tone was at once angry and appealing. It implied
authority and comradeship.

Anderson had given great promise as a speaker during his college
course. He was a man who, if he exerted himself, could gauge the
temper of a mob. The men on the outskirts began moving away easily;
the boys followed their example. The little barber took the boy
familiarly by the arm.

"Now, you look at here," said he. "Don't you hev them chaps
a-pesterin' of you no more, an' ef they do, you jest streak right
into my parlor an' I'll take care of ye. See?"

The boy twitched his arm away and eyed the barber witheringly. "I
don't want anything to do with you nor your old barber-shop," said he.

"You had better run along, John," said Anderson to the barber, who
was staring amazedly, although the complacent smirk upon his face was
undiminished.

"I guess he's a child kinder given to speakin' at tandem," he said,
as he complied with Anderson's advice.

The boy turned at once to the man. "What business had that barber
telling me to go into his old barber-shop?" demanded he. "I ain't
afraid of all the boys in this one-horse town."

"Of course not," said Anderson.

"I did have an elephant when I lived in Hillfield, and I did ride
him, and I did have circuses every Saturday," said the boy, with
challenge.

Anderson said nothing.

"At least--" said the child, in a modified tone. Anderson looked at
him with an air of polite waiting. The boy's roses bloomed again. "At
least--" he faltered, "at least--" A maid rang a dinner-bell
frantically in the doorway of the house near which they were
standing. Anderson glanced at her, then back at the boy. "At least--"
said the boy, with a blurt of confidence which yielded nothing, but
implied the recognition of a friend and understander in the
man--"at--least I used to make believe I had an elephant when I lived
in Hillfield."

"Yes?" said Anderson. He made a movement to go, and the boy still
kept at his side.

"And--" he added, but still with n