with those of my illustrious ancestors. It is needless for me to add
that I, too, am connected with the legal profession."

Here Hiram Maxwell called out, "First round for Mr. Sawyer."

"Shut up, you dough-head," cried Strout, his face purple with rage.
Turning to Quincy he said in a choked voice, "My name is Obadiah Strout,
no frills or folderols about it either. That was my father's name too,
and he lived and died an honest man, in spite of it. He raised potatoes
and one son, that was me. When the nation called for volunteers I went
to war to save the money bags of such as you that stayed at home. It was
such fellers as you that made money out of mouldy biscuits and rotten
beef, shoddy clothin', and paper-soled boots. It was such fellers as
your father that lent their money to the government and got big interest
for it. They kept the war going as long as they could. What cared they
for the blood of the poor soldier, as long as they could keep the
profits and interest coming in? It wasn't the Quincys and the Adamses
and the other fellers with big names that stayed at home and hollered
who saved the country, but the rank and file that did the fightin', and
I was one of them."

As he said this the irascible Professor shook his fist in Quincy's face,
to which a red flush mounted, dyeing cheek and brow.

"That's the Lord's truth," said Abner Stiles. Then he called out in a
loud voice, "Second round for the Professor. Now for the finish."

But the finish did not come then. The settlement between these two
lingual disputants did not come for many days. The reason for a sudden
cessation of the wordy conflict was a shrill, feminine voice, which