so close upon your offer----"

"Quite so," exclaimed Dryden. "A suspicious coincidence, I admit." He
shook the proffered fingers without a shadow of resentment. "I dare
say my dust-coat and goggles give me quite the highwayman effect," he
continued jollily.

"They sort of got on my nerves, I guess." Under the spell of his
generous impulse various bits of local color flattering to his
companion began to suggest themselves to Harrington for his article,
and he added: "I'll take advantage of that suggestion of yours and get
to work until luncheon is ready."

Some fifteen minutes later they were seated opposite to each other at
an appetizing meal. As Dryden finished his first glass of claret, he
asked:

"Did you know Richard Upton?"

"The man who was killed? Not personally. But I have read about him in
the society papers."

"Ah!" There was a deep melancholy in the intonation which caused the
reporter to look at his companion a little sharply. For a moment
Dryden stirred in his chair as though about to make some comment, and
twisted the morsel of bread at his fingers' ends into a small pellet.
But he poured out another glass of claret for each of them and said:

"He was the salt of the earth."