etermination that was softened by mobile lips which could straighten
and set with decision, or droop and waver with appreciative humour. His
blue eyes were still more expressive. They could glint with set purpose,
or twinkle with quiet humour that seemed to be heightened by their
polished glasses.

Elise was inwardly abashed, but outwardly she showed no sign. She stood
straight as an arrow, her hands clasped behind her back, every line of
her graceful figure brought out by her unaffected pose.

"So you are the old man, are you?" The curiosity of the child and the
dignity of the woman were humorously blended in her voice and manner.

"At your service." Firmstone raised his hat deliberately. The dignity of
the action was compromised by a twinkle of his eyes and a wavering of
his lips.

Elise looked a little puzzled.

"How old are you?" she asked, bluntly.

"Twenty-eight."

"That's awfully old. I'm sixteen," she answered, decisively.

"That's good. What next?"

"What's a minion?" she asked. She was trying to deploy her forces for
her premeditated attack.

"A minion?" he repeated, with a shade of surprise. "Oh, a minion's a
fellow who licks the boots of the one above him and kicks the man below
to even up."

Elise looked bewildered.

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, I see." Firmstone's smile broadened. "You're literal-minded.
According to Webster, a minion is a man who seeks favours by flattery."

"Webster!" she exclaimed. "Who's Webster?"

"He's the man who wrote a lexicon."

"A lexicon? What's a lexicon?"

"It's a book that tells you how to spell words, and tells you what they
mean."

Elise looked superior.

"I know how to spell words, and I know what they mean, too, without
looking in a--. What did you call it?"

"Lexicon. I thought you just said you knew what words meant."

"I didn't mean big words, just words that common folks use."

"You aren't common folks, are you?"

"That's just what I am," Elise answered, aggressively, "and we aren't
ashamed of it, either. We're just as good as anybody," she ended, with a
toss of her head.

"Oh, thanks." Firmstone laughed. "I'm common folks, too."

"No, you aren't. You're a minion. M'sieu Mo-reeson says so. You're a
capitalistic hireling sent out here to oppress the poor workingman. You
use long tape-lines to measure up, and short rods to measure holes, and
you sneak in the mill at night, and go prying round the mine, and
posting notices, and--er--oh,