"Ah! But my friends do not. You spoke just now of your point of view.
This is ours. Think it over, Mr. Harrington, and you will realize that
there is something in it." He sat back in his chair with the air of a
man who has pulled victory out of the jaws of defeat and is well
content.

Harrington meditated a moment. "However that be, one thing is
certain--it has got to come out. It will come out. You may rest
assured of that, Mr. Dryden." So saying he reached for his note-book
and proceeded to run a pencil through the abnoxious paragraph.

"You have won your bet and--and the young lady, too, Sir Knight, I
trust. You seem to have found your niche." Which goes to prove that
the reporter was a magnanimous fellow at heart.

Dryden forbore to commit himself as to the condition of his hopes as
he thanked his late adversary for this expression of good-will. Ten
minutes later they were sitting in the rehabilitated motor-car and
speeding rapidly toward New York. When they reached the city Dryden
insisted on leaving the reporter at his doorsteps, a courtesy which
went straight to Harrington's heart, for, as he expected would be the
case, his wife and son Tesla were looking out of the window at the
moment of his arrival and saw him dash up to the curbstone. His sturdy
urchin ran out forthwith to inspect the mysteries of the huge machine.
As it vanished down the street Harrington put an arm round Tesla and
went to meet the wife of his bosom.

"Who is your new friend, Paul?" she asked.

It rose to Harrington's lips to say--an hour before he would have said