Haines grinned.

"Guess it's your fault this time."

"Oh, it is, is it?" irritably replied Randolph, who as the "young
marse" had been accustomed to considerable deference on the
plantation. "Well, take that," he angrily cried, aiming a savage swing
at Haines.

The reporter's athletic training proved of ready service. Dodging
under the clenched fist, he turned dexterously, seized young Langdon's
outstretched wrist and bent the arm down over his (Haines') shoulder
as though to throw the young attacker with the wrestler's "flying
mare." Langdon was helpless, as Haines had also secured his free hand,
but instead of completing the "throw" the reporter walked away with
his foe held securely on his back--to put him to bed, a kindly
service, in view of Randolph's mental state.

From across the lobby Charles Norton had watched Randolph's
discomfiting encounter with Haines with amusement.

"Now that I've got the young fellow to sew up his old man's money in
Altacoola land," he chuckled, "reckon Senator William H. Langdon won't
see anything wrong with that same noble tract of universe when he
comes to vote for the naval base. Senator Stevens will be pleased."