answered. A few drops of wine had spilled on the mahogany. He touched
them, and held up his fingers and looked thoughtfully at the stain.

"Because I propose to ride through them," he said. "I propose showing our
friends--how shall I put it so you'll understand?--that I don't care a
damn for the whole pack."

"Gad!" murmured Mr. Aiken. "I might have known it. And here I was
thinking you'd be quiet and sensible. Are you still going on with that
damned paper?"

The red of the wine seemed to please my father. He dipped his fingers in
it again and drew them slowly across the back of his left hand.

"Precisely," he said. "I propose to deliver it tonight before I sail. I
leave it at Hixon's farm."

"He's dead," said Mr. Aiken.

"Exactly," said my father. "Only his shade will help me. Perhaps it will
be enough--who knows?"

"There'll be half a dozen after you before you get through the gate,"
said Mr. Aiken dubiously. "You can lay to it Lawton will be there before
you make a turn."

"That," said my father, "is why I say we're sailing very close to
the wind."

"Good God, sir, burn it up," said Mr. Aiken plaintively. "What's it been