"Why, it's Scott Parsons!" cried Grandma Brown.
There was a pause, during which the tender voice of the phonograph thrilled on. Young Jeff, his red face even redder than his visits to the pail would warrant, put his hand to his hip. Judith darted before him and ran the length of the room.
"Hello, Scott! Welcome home! The next dance is yours."
"No, it's not!" shouted John Spencer. "You let Judith alone, you blank young outlaw you!"
"Get out of my way, Jude!" shouted Young Jeff. "I told Scott not to come back to Lost Chief!"
He strode down the room, his hand still, on his gun. Scott's hand had been equally quick. Peter Knight turned off the machine. "Hold on, Jeff!" he cried. "You turned Scott over to the law, and the law acquitted him. If you'd wanted to take things in your own hands, you should have done so before the trial. If you kill Scott, you're no better than he is."
"That's right!" cried Grandma Brown. "And your record ain't so clean, Young Jeff, that you can afford to start anything!"
Judith tossed her head, "I don't see why Young Jeff should be allowed to spoil a perfectly good party."
"If you can't put him out, Jude, I can!" cried Inez.
Everybody laughed. Jude seized one of Young Jeff's big hands, Inez the other. There was an uproarious scuffle which ended in the three, laughing immoderately, executing a hybrid folk dance to the one-step which Peter began to play. And Scott danced unmolested during the remainder of the night.
Charleton Falkner had drunk a good deal but was as yet little the worse for it. He and Douglas met at the
