ir merits. I like to
Fletcherize them with my mind, and with those senses which my mind can
set astir. And so with my cigars, and with my food! Why, sir, much of
the pleasure of drinking and smoking and eating--as a gentleman
understands these pleasures--is in their peaceful contemplation before
the act! Otherwise, we are swine, and degrade our nutriment by coarse
handling! What respect can we have for self, sir, if we choke and
gurgle, and contemptuously treat those things we put into our bodies! I
shall have no more of it, sir!"

Brent waited until this wave of impatience had spent itself upon the
chairs, the grass, and everything within reach of the Colonel's wrathful
eye; then asked:

"What did you do with him?"

"Potter?" he nervously answered. "Wasn't there. Blood on the ground, but
he'd gone. Either wasn't killed, or someone found him. I don't know
which, of course, but probably the latter."

"What shall you do?"

"I don't know; I don't know. Telephone to Jess, doubtless."

For a moment they sat looking soberly into each other's faces.

"May I suggest," Brent said, "that you abandon the idea of telephoning
the sheriff? Jess isn't wanted quite yet awhile. If Potter is only
wounded--maybe just scratched--he's all right. If someone found his
body, there are others besides Dale who might have killed him."

"But, sir," sputtered the Colonel, "I can't harbor a murderer!"

"There's a difference between a murderer and one who righteously avenges
a wrong. That's worth considering. Besides, it's a serious matter for a
gentleman to give over his guest."

This, he knew, was a powerful argument and, feeling content to let it
plead its own cause, quietly added: "We don't want to see him go to
jail--"

"He wouldn't go to jail, sir," the Colonel quickly interrupted. "I would
ask Jess to leave him here until Court convenes. He would be glad to do
that for me."

"I know he would," Brent replied with all sincerity. "But we don't need
a sheriff yet. Let's wait, and see what turns up!"

An expression of infinite relief came into the old gentleman's face, but
his conscience was still aroused and emphatically he declared: "I'll
deliver him to the law, sir, the very minute I know to a certainty that
Potter is dead!" Then his eyes turned toward the house, from where by
this time he thought his julep should be emerging.

That faithful institution, Uncle Zack, had come perilously near
fulfilling his mission. He had walked