no business here. His coming was of a piece with all the rest of his
insolence. Phyllis hated him with the lusty healthy hatred of youth. She
had her father's generosity and courage, his quick indignation against
wrong and injustice, and banked within her much of his passionate
lawlessness.

"I know my business, sir."

Weaver turned from the window and came front to front with old Jim
Sanderson. The burning black eyes of the Southerner, set in sockets of
extraordinary depths, blazed from a grim, hostile face. Always when he
felt ugliest Sanderson's drawl became more pronounced. His daughter,
hearing now the slow, gentle voice, ran quickly round the counter and
slipped an arm into that of her father.

"This hyer is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Weaver," he was saying. "It's
been quite some time since I've seen you all in my house before, makin'
you'self at home so pleasantly. It's ce'tainly an honor, seh."

"Don't get buck ague, Sanderson. I'm here because I'm here. That's
reason a-plenty for me," Weaver told him contemptuously.

"But not for me, seh. When you come into my house----"

"I didn't come into your house."

"Why--why----"

"Father!" implored the girl. "It's a government post-office. He has a
right here as long as he behaves."