ed savored of the blackest magic.

"What did she _do_ to you?"

"Just looked at me, that's all,--and took it for granted."

"Heavens! You're shivering!"

"You _wait_--wait till she talks to you! She's promised to give me a
little book," he went on dejectedly, "'One Hundred Common Errors in
Writing and Speaking,' and she says the split infinitive is a crime in
this nineteenth century. But, say, this paper would never get to press
if I took time to unsplit all my infinitives."

"Well, put Billy Durgin to work on her case right away," I said to cheer
him. "If the woman talks like that, I'll bet Billy can find some good
reason why she ought to push on after the Colonel."

Again his deeply thoughtful gaze bore upon me.

"I'm puzzled," he said,--"honestly puzzled. I don't know whether she'll
be good for this town or not. She may in a way--and in a way she may
not. She will be disturbing,--I can see that already,--but she is
stimulating. She may stir us up to nobler endeavors."

"Did she say so?"

"Well--uh--something of the sort. I believe that _was_ the expression
she used. I'll tell you what you do. You come along with me and see the
lady right now. They've had dinner by this time."

Together we went and were presently climbing the stairs that led to the
second floor of the City Hotel.

Mrs. Potts received us graciously. Upon me she bestowed a glance of
friendly curiosity, as does a kind physician who waits to be told of
symptoms before prescribing. Upon Solon she bent a more knowing look, as
upon one whose frailties have already been revealed. She gave us chairs
and she talked. Little Roscoe Potts writhed near by upon an ottoman and
betrayed that he, too, could talk when circumstances were kindly. The
detail of their personalities, salient in that first moment, was that
Heaven had denied them both the gift of reticence.

"Yes--I've been telling Mr. Denney--I feel that there is a work here for
me," she began briskly. "I felt it strongly when I perused the columns
of the newspaper which Mr. Denney was thoughtful enough to send me."

Solon's eyes uneasily sought the cabbage-like flowers in the faded
carpet of the room.

"And I feel it more strongly now that I have ventured among you,"
continued the lady, glowing upon us both.

"I have long suspected that it was a regrettable waste of energy to send
missionaries into heathen parts of the globe when there remain so many
unenlightened corners in our own land. I