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 porch to enjoy his daily pastime of baiting his ward.

“Which one of the moon calves walked home with you to-day?” he demanded.

She only wrinkled her nose at him over the paper.

“Was it young Crane? Seems like he’s trying to set up a monopoly.”

“He’s a beast! Mal Crane needn’t think he can say anything he wants to about anybody…. And it is a good issue of the paper. If you ask me, I say it’s better than Uncle Dave ever got out…. And Mal Crane’s a beast.”

“Delightfully definite. Why?”

“And he’s a coward, and his father’s a coward.”

“Um….” said Dave. He fancied he understood. So the Cranes were taking up their old role again; Malcolm Crane, now circuit judge, retained his old vindictiveness, and passed it on to his son. He frowned thoughtfully. The thing spelled trouble. Then, experimentally, he said, “Reading the paper, eh?… Looks like Angus bit off more than he can chew.”

Lydia jumped to her feet, color rising to her cheeks, sparks flashing from her eyes. “I think it’s fine—fine! I’ve read every word of it—and it’s wonderful…. Uncle Dave never made a better paper, and you ought to be ashamed of