into the bowl with a splash. ``Dorn-- he's a scoundrel!'' he
exclaimed, shaking with passion. ``I'm going to have that dirty
little paper of his stopped and him put out of town. Impudent
puppy!--foul- mouthed demagogue! I'll SHOW him!''

``Why, he doesn't amount to anything, father,'' remonstrated the
girl. ``He's nothing but a common working man--isn't he?''

``That's all he is--the hound!'' replied Martin Hastings. A
look of cruelty, of tenacious cruelty, had come into his face.
It would have startled a stranger. But his daughter had often
seen it; and it did not disturb her, as it had never appeared for
anything that in any way touched her life. ``I've let him hang
on here too long,'' went on the old man, to himself rather than
to her. ``First thing I know he'll be dangerous.''

``If he's worth while I should think you'd hire him,'' remarked
Jane shrewdly.

``I wouldn't have such a scoundrel in my employ,'' cried her
father.

``Oh, maybe,'' pursued the daughter, ``maybe you couldn't hire
him.''

``Of course I could,'' scoffed Hastings. ``Anybody can be
hired.''

``I don't believe it,'' said the girl bluntly.