Painfully he became aware of his own futility. Miss Sheridan had ceased to
blaze. Seated again before the typewriter she grinned at him with amused
incredulity.

"You nearly had me going, Pen."

Mr. Evans summoned the deeper resources of his manhood and achieved an
easier manner. He brazenly returned her grin. "I'll have you going again
before I'm through--remember that."

"By wiles, tricks and stratagems, I suppose."

"The same. By those I shall make poor George recant, and by those, assuming
you to be a woman with a fine sense of honor who will hold a promise
sacred, I shall have you going. And, mark my words, you'll be going good,
too!"

"Silly!"

She drew from the waste basket the maltreated _Sentinel_, unfurled it to
expose the offending matter, and smote the column with the backs of four
accusing fingers.

"There, my dear, is your answer. Now run along like a good boy."

"Silly!" said Mr. Evans, striving for a masterly finish to the unequal
combat. He arose, dissembling cheerful confidence, straightened the frame
of a steel-engraved Daniel Webster on the wall, and thrice paced the length
of the room, falsely appearing to be engaged in deep thought.