By tact alone had he achieved that which open sneers, covert insult, abuse, ridicule, contumely, and forthright threats had failed to consummate, and in the first flush of the news we all felt much as Westley Keyts said he did.
"Solon Denney is some subtler than me," said Westley, in a winning spirit of concession; "I can see that, now.

He's the Boss of Little Arcady after this, all right, so far as _I_ know." Nevertheless, there was misgiving about the letters for Potts.

Old Asa Bundy, our banker, wanted to know, somewhat peevishly, if it seemed quite honest to send Potts to another town with a satchel full of letters certifying to his rare values as a man and a citizen.

What would that town think of us two or three days later?
"This is no time to split hairs, Bundy," said Solon; and I believe I added, "Don't be quixotic, Mr.Bundy!" Hereupon Westley Keyts broke in brightly.
"Why, now, they'll see in a minute that the whole thing was meant as a joke.

They'll see that the laugh is on _them_, and they'll have a lot of fun out of it, and then send the old cuss along to another town with some more funny letters to fool the next ones." "That's all very _well_, but it isn't high conduct," insisted Bundy.
Westley Keyts now achieved the nearest approach to diplomacy I have ever known of him.
"Oh, well, Asa, after all, this is a world of give and take.