"Very good. We'll leave it at that. He has done more than enough for
us already, and I don't hold with bothering gentlemen in and out of
season. Besides, this is a bit in which I don't want his help, nor
nobody else's. This is between me and _them_."

He pushed away his uneaten food, stood up, and squared his big
shoulders.

"Yes, but, Will dear--you, you won't be hasty when you get before
them."

Dale frowned, then laughed. "Mav, trust your old boy, and don't fret."
He came round the table, and laid his hand on his wife's shoulder. "My
sweetheart, I'm sorry, for your sake, that this little upset should
have occurred. But don't you fret. I'm coming out on top. Maybe, this
is like touch-and-go. I don't say it isn't. But I know my vaarlue--and
I mean to let them know it, if they don't know it already. Look at my
record! Who's goin' to pick a hole in it?"

"No, but--"

"There's times when a man's got to show pluck--to stan' to's guns, and
assert hisself for what he's worth. And that's what I'm going to do in
the General Post Office of all England." As he said this the blood
showed redly, and every line of his face deepened and hardened. "You
keep a stout heart. This isn't going to shake William Dale off of his
perch."

"No?" And she looked up at him with widely-opened eyes.