of a neat and bloodless victory.

No one has ever denied that Denney must have employed a faultless, an
incomparable tact, to bring J. Rodney Potts to this agreement. By tact
alone had he achieved that which open sneers, covert insult, abuse,
ridicule, contumely, and forthright threats had failed to consummate,
and in the first flush of the news we all felt much as Westley Keyts
said he did.

"Solon Denney is some subtler than me," said Westley, in a winning
spirit of concession; "I can see that, now. He's the Boss of Little
Arcady after this, all right, so far as _I_ know."

Nevertheless, there was misgiving about the letters for Potts. Old Asa
Bundy, our banker, wanted to know, somewhat peevishly, if it seemed
quite honest to send Potts to another town with a satchel full of
letters certifying to his rare values as a man and a citizen. What would
that town think of us two or three days later?

"This is no time to split hairs, Bundy," said Solon; and I believe I
added, "Don't be quixotic, Mr. Bundy!"

Hereupon Westley Keyts broke in brightly.

"Why, now, they'll see in a minute that the whole thing was meant as a
joke. They'll see that the laugh is on _them_, and they'll have a lot of
fun out of it, and then send the old cuss along to another town with
some more funny letters to fool the next ones." "That's all very
_well_, but it isn't high conduct," insisted Bundy.