THE evening after the mailing of that fatal letter to Dr. Jack Redfield, some one rapped on Hugh Stanton’s door.

“Come in,” said Hugh, as he went on with his toilet. The door opened, and Judge Lynn walked in. The judge’s facial appearance gave evidence that he had just come from a barber shop. He frequently passed one hand over his smooth-shaven chin, as if to call attention to it.

“Hello, Mr. Stanton,” said he, as he helped himself to a chair. “You’re dressin’ up like you might be goin’ somewhere.”

“I have been invited to dine with the Osborns.”

“Jist so; danged good place to get a square meal; bet yer life it is.”

“The Osborns are very hospitable people,” observed Hugh, as he went on with his toilet.

“Look ‘e here, Stanton,” said Judge Lynn, “did you think I was drunk the other evenin’ when you and Major Hampton and myself were discussin’ the Barley Hullers?”

“I don’t know,” replied Hugh, evasively, “were you?”

“No, sir,” said the judge, emphatically, “don’t you believe it; not for your life. I jist got to thinkin’ about a case I’d decided in my court that day. A complex, tryin’ question of law, sir, always exhausts me, as it did the other night, and I fell asleep.” Hugh turned his face away to conceal his amusement.

“What’s the matter with you, anyhow, Stanton; you’re gettin’ mighty disbelievin’ it ‘pears to me; what are you grinnin’ ‘bout? Can’t a feller go to sleep if he feels like it?” asked the judge.

“How is business in your court, Judge?” asked Hugh, paying no attention to his irritation.

“Oh, she’s poppin’ these days, and don’t you forget it,” replied the judge. “You see, we’ve had no rain since last fall, and here it’s the first of May. Dry weather nachally makes our people irritable and brittle. Fellers ‘round here can’t pay their interest, and the Eastern capitalists are gettin’ down on ‘em. Mortgages are bein’ foreclosed, right and left; bet yer life, law business with me is hummin’.”

“We certainly need rain,” said Hugh. “The farmers, however, tell me that the barley, wheat, corn, and other crops are looking fairly well, notwithstanding the dry weather.”

“That’s a fact,” replied the judge, “crops are lookin’ devilish good, considerin’. Fact is, there’s lots of water in the ground from last year’s rains, but she’s oozin’ out danged fast lately, and within a week or two more, unless we have rain, things’ll be dryer ‘n powder dust. Yes, sir, loan companies are already gettin’ skittish, and sendin’ back applications for farm loans, unfilled.”

“Oh, come,” said Hugh, “you are a pessimist. We shall have a good rain before many days, and then you will change your mind.”

“Don’t you believe it, sir,” remarked the judge, with emphasis. “Now let me tell you,—but gosh almighty, what’s the use of talkin’ to you, Stanton; I can’t convince you, though I am right. It’s only a waste of words. You ‘re lariated with the balance of ‘em, and held in the iron grip of error. You go on believin’ jist as you please, anyway. Say, I called for a little favor. I want to borrow five dollars.”

“Want to borrow five dollars?” repeated Hugh.

“Yes, sirree, I do,” answered the judge, “and see here, Stanton, you must n’t refuse me. You see I had a case in my court the other day, and sort of attempted to interfere with a decision of the Supreme Court of the Sunflower State. It has resulted in the attorney-general’s gettin’ gay and frisky like, and sendin’ me the most contemptible and impudent telegram I ever read. I want the five dollars to telegraph back my defense. Fact is, I have jist got to have it; bet yer life I have. Oh, I can mighty near tell by the way my neck itches that somebody is makin’ a halter for it, bet yer life.”

“Why don’t you send it collect?” asked Hugh.

“Why, dangnation, man, I tried it, and the fool of an operator down here someway don’t have the right idee about the importance, dignity, and responsibility of my court, and he would n’t send it unless the shekels were put up in advance.”

Hugh handed the judge five dollars, and asked him if he did not think he had exceeded his authority in interfering with a decision of the Supreme Court.

“Law, my dear Stanton,” replied the judge, blandly, as he put the five dollars in his pocket, “law is my hobby. Speakin’ unreserved-like, they can’t down me on the statutes, no, sir; and if I had that low-down varmin of an attorney-general here, why, I’d fine him for contempt of court; bet yer life I would. Oh, I know a whole lot when it comes to law. Well, I must be goin’.”

“Good day,” said Hugh, as the judge started toward the door; “call again.”

“Good day,” responded Judge Lynn. “I’ll hand you back this special accommodation tomorrow.”

A little later Hugh hurried along the street toward Captain Osborn’s, laughing softly to himself at the oddities of Judge Lynn. When he reached the Osborn home, to his surprise he found Miss Marie Hampton there.

“I intended to surprise you,” said Mrs. Osborn, coquettishly, “by having Major Hampton and Marie with us, but have succeeded only partially. The major is away from home, but I carried Marie away with me this afternoon, and have persuaded her to remain with us for dinner.”

“I am truly delighted with your thoughtfulness,” replied Hugh, bowing deferentially to Marie, “but, really, Mrs. Osborn, you have no need of adding to the attractions of your lovely home to induce me to come.”

“I am not so sure of that,” replied Mrs. Osborn, as her musical laugh rang out merrily, “the captain and I are beginning to believe that you are incorrigible in your habit of neglecting your friends.”

“Hugh is a most excellent man of business,” replied the captain, “but he throws social obligations to the winds, unless his frequent visits to the Hortons prove an exception.”

“Don’t jest about impossibilities, Captain,” said Mrs. Osborn. “Lord Avondale will soon return, and—well, we all know what that means.”

Hugh’s face reddened at Mrs. Osborn’s words. He was not at all sure about the correctness of her inference.

“My calls at Major Hampton’s are quite as frequent as at Mr. Horton’s,” replied Hugh.

“You could come oftener and still be welcome,” observed Marie, while her heart beat fast with admiration for Hugh, an admiration she could not entirely conceal.

“Oh, thank you,” said Hugh, “that is a compliment I shall not soon forget,” and, as he spoke, caution beat a hasty tattoo on the drumhead of conscience.

Hugh could not help noticing that Marie was growing more and more beautiful. She was attired in an evening dress of black lace, which was admirably becoming to her graceful figure. Her heavy tresses shone like burnished gold and the softer shades of copper, while the rose hue of perfect health tinted her cheeks. The animated way in which she conversed with Hugh confirmed Mrs. Osborn’s suspicions that she was in love with him, while he was too stupid, she told herself, even to suspect it.

The dinner-hour passed pleasantly, Mrs. Osborn giving the captain but few of her tiger-claw scratches. The veteran invariably took refuge in the snug harbor of little Harry, whenever a serious break seemed imminent, and thus warded off all collisions with the war-cruiser of his domestic life. As they arose from the table, Hugh turned to Mrs. Osborn and asked her rather abruptly when Lord Avondale was expected.

“Why, what is that to you?” replied the wily

Mrs. Osborn, as she looked rather exultingly at him.

“I am interested in knowing,” replied Hugh.

“Well, but your interest is only platonic, you know.”

“Perhaps,” answered Hugh.

“Oh, perhaps,” repeated Mrs. Osborn, as she elevated her eyebrows and smiled bewitchingly at him. Hugh, however, made no reply, and Mrs. Osborn’s nerves received a shock by his silence as well as by the turn affairs were taking. She mentally resolved to wire Lord Avondale, on the next day, to hasten his coming.

Returning to the drawing-room, Captain Osborn pushed aside the heavy hangings that separated it from Mrs. Osborn’s music-room.

“Lucy, my dear,” said he, “I am sure Miss Marie and Mr. Stanton would enjoy some music.”

“By all means,” said Marie, “I have often wished to hear you play, Mrs. Osborn.”

“Captain, what shall I play?” asked his wife, seating herself languidly at the piano.

“Oh, anything,” replied the jovial old captain, “anything from ‘Old Dan Tucker’ to the ‘Fisher’s Hornpipe.’.rdquo;

“You will observe,” said Mrs. Osborn, looking back at Hugh over her shoulder, and smiling, “that my husband is quite primitive in his musical tastes.”

Then followed several selections. She played mechanically, however, and with little expression. There was no soul to rebound from the strings of the instrument. In the very middle of a classical piece, which was beyond her, she suddenly stopped playing, and, turning to Hugh, said:

“Excuse me, but did you not, on one occasion, speak of Miss Hampton’s playing?”

“I doubtless have mentioned it,” replied Hugh.

“Ah, you naughty girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Osborn, laughing, “why did you not tell me? Come, Marie, you must help me entertain these American financiers—these men of affairs. I promise you,” she went on, patronizingly, “that they will not know whether you play excellently or otherwise.”