“SCARFORD!” screamed the brakeman, throwing open the car door. “Scarford!”

Mrs. Dott, umbrella in hand, was already in the aisle. Captain Dan, standing between the seats, was struggling to get the suitcase down from the rack above. It was a brand-new suitcase. Serena had declared that their other, the one which had accompanied them on various trips to Boston during the past eight years, was altogether too shabby. She had insisted on buying another, and, the stock in the store not being good enough, had selected this herself from the catalog of a Boston manufacturer. Her umbrella, silk with a silver handle, was new also. So was her hat, her gown and her shoes. So, too, was the captain's hat, and his suit and light overcoat. There was a general air of newness about the Dotts, so apparent, particularly on Daniel's part, that various passengers had nudged each other, winked, and whispered surmises concerning recent marriage and a honeymoon trip.

The suitcase, the buckle of which had caught in the meshes of the rack, giving way, came down unexpectedly and with a thump on the seat. The captain hurriedly lifted it. A stifled laugh from the occupants of adjacent seats reached Serena's ears.

“What is it?” she demanded impatiently. “Aren't you coming? Do hurry.”

“I—I'm comin',” stammered her husband, thrusting his fist into the new hat which, as it lay on the seat, had received the weight of the falling suitcase. “I'm comin'. Go ahead! I'll be right along.”

He pounded the battered “derby” into more or less presentable shape, clapped it on his head, and, suitcase in hand, followed his wife.

Through the crowd on the platform they passed, through the waiting room and out to the sidewalk. There Captain Dan put down the case, gave the maltreated hat a brush with his sleeve, and looked about him.

“Lively place, ain't it, Serena?” he observed. “Whew! that valise is heavy. Well, where's the next port of call?”

“We'll go to the hotel first. Oh, dear, it's a shame things happened so we had to come now. In another fortnight the Blacks would have been here and we could have gone right to their house. Mrs. Black felt dreadfully about it. She said so ever so many times.”

The captain made no answer. If he had doubts concerning the depths of the Blacks' sorrow he kept them to himself. Picking up the suitcase, he stepped forward to the curb.

“Where are you going?” demanded his wife.

“Why, to the hotel. That's where you wanted to go, wasn't it?”

“Certainly; but how were you going? You don't know where it is.”

“No, so I don't. But I can hail one of those electrics and ask the conductor to stop when he got to it. He'd know where 'twas, most likely.”

“Electric” is the Down East term for trolley car, lines of which were passing and repassing the station. Daniel waved his disengaged hand to the conductor of the nearest. The car stopped.

“Wait a minute,” said Serena quickly. “How do you know that car is going the right way?”

“Hey? Well, of course I don't know, but—”

“Of course you don't. Besides, we don't want to go in an electric. We must take a carriage.”

“A carriage? A hack, you mean. What do we want to do that for?”

“Because it's what everyone does.”

“No, they don't. Look at all the folks on that electric now. Besides, we—”

“Hi there!” shouted the conductor of the car angrily. “Brace up! Get a move on, will you?”

Mrs. Dott regarded him with dignity.

“We're not coming,” she said. “You can go right along.”

The car proceeded, the conductor commenting freely and loudly, and the passengers on the broad grin.

“Now, Daniel,” said Serena, “you get one of those carriages and we'll go as we ought to. I know we've always gone in the electrics when we were in Boston, but then we didn't feel as if we could afford anything else. Now we can. And don't stop to bargain about the fare. What is fifty cents more or less to US?”

The captain shook his head, but he obeyed orders. A few minutes later they were seated in a cab, drawn by a venerable horse and driven by a man with a hooked nose, and were moving toward the Palatine House, the hostelry recommended by Mrs. Black as the finest in Scarford.

“There!” said Serena, leaning back against the shabby cushions, “this is better than an electric, isn't it? And when we get to the hotel you'll see the difference it will make in the way they treat us. Mrs. Black says there is everything in a first impression. If people judge by your looks that you're no account they'll treat you that way. But what were you and the driver having such a talk about?”

Captain Dan grinned. “I got the name of the hotel wrong at first,” he admitted. “I called it the Palestine House instead of the other thing. The driver thought I was makin' fun of him. It ain't safe to mention Palestine to a feller with a nose like that.”

The Palatine House was new and gorgeous; built in the hope of attracting touring automobilists, it was that dreary mistake, a cheap imitation of the swagger metropolitan article. Scarford was not a metropolis, and the imitation in this case was a particularly poor one. However, to the Dotts, its marble-floored lobby and gilded pillars and cornices were grand and imposing. Their room on the third floor looked out upon the street below, and if the view of shops and signs and trucks and trolleys was not beautiful it was, at least, distinctly different from any view in Trumet.

Serena gloried in it.

“Ah!” she sighed, “this is something like. THIS is life! There's something going on here, Daniel. Don't you feel it?”

Daniel was counting his small change.

“What say?” he asked.

His wife repeated her question, raising her voice to carry above the noises of the street.

“Feel it! Yes, yes; and hear it, too. How we're ever goin' to sleep with all that hullabaloo outside I don't know. Don't you suppose we could get a quieter room than this, Serena?”

“I don't want a quiet room. I don't want to sleep. I feel as if I'd been asleep all my life. Now, thank goodness, I am where people are really awake. What are you doing with that money?”

“Oh, just lookin' at it, while I can. I shan't have the chance very long, if the other folks in this town are like that hack driver. A dollar to drive half a mile in that hearse! Why, the whole shebang wa'n't worth more than two dollars, to buy. And then he had the cheek to ask me to give him 'a quarter for himself.'”

“Yes, that was his tip. We must expect that. Gertrude says she always has to tip the servants and drivers and such at college. Did you give it to him?”

“Who? Me? I told him I was collectin' for a museum, and I'd give him a quarter for the horse, just as it stood—or WHILE it stood. I said he'd better take the offer pretty quick because the critter looked as if 'twould lay down most any minute.”

He chuckled. Serena, however, was very solemn.

“Daniel,” she said, “I must speak to you again about your language. You've lived in Trumet so long that you talk just like Azuba, or pretty nearly as bad. You mustn't say 'critter' and 'wa'n't' and 'cal'late.' Do try, won't you, to please me?”

“I'll try, Serena. But I don't see what difference it makes. We DO live in Trumet, don't we?”

“We HAVE lived there. How long we shall—But there, never mind. Just remember as well as you can and get ready now for dinner.”

Her husband muttered that he didn't see where the “getting ready” came in; he had on the best he'd got. But he washed his hands and brushed his hair and they descended to the dining-room, where they ate a 'table d'hote' meal, beginning with lukewarm soup and ending with salty ice cream.

They had left Trumet the previous evening, spending the night at Centreboro and taking the early morning train for Scarford. Two weeks had passed since the fateful visit of young Mr. Farwell, and, though the wondrous good fortune which had befallen the Dott family was still wonderful, they were beginning to accept it as a real and established fact. All sorts of things had happened during those two weeks. They had gone to Boston, where they spent the better part of two days with the lawyers, going over the lists of securities, signing papers, and arranging all sorts of business matters. Serena and the attorneys did the most of the arranging. Captain Dan looked on, understanding very little, saying “Yes” or “No” as commanded by his wife, and signing his name whenever and wherever requested.

After another day, spent in the Boston shops, where the new clothes were purchased or ordered, a process which Serena enjoyed hugely and her husband endured with a martyr's patience, they had paid a flying visit to the college town and Gertrude. They found the young lady greatly excited and very happy, but her happiness was principally on their account.

“I'm so glad for you both, Daddy,” she told her father. “When I got Mother's letter with the news the very first thing I thought was: 'There! now Father won't have to worry any more about the old store or anything else. He can be comfortable and carefree and happy, as he deserves to be.' And you won't worry, will you, Dad?”

The captain seemed oddly doubtful.

“I shan't if I can help it,” he said. “But I'm the most foolish chap that ever lived, in some ways, seems so. When the business was so I had to worry about it all the time I used to set up nights wishin' I didn't own it. Now that we're fixed so it don't make much difference whether I get a profit or not, I find myself frettin' and wonderin' how Nathaniel and Sam are gettin' along. I wake up guessin' how much they've sold since I've been away, and whether we're stuck on those canvas hats and those middy blouses and one thing or 'nother, same as I was afraid we'd be. I've only been away three days altogether, but it seems about a year.”

Gertrude smiled and shook her head.

“Why don't you sell out?” she asked. “Or would no one buy? I presume that's it.”

“No-o, that ain't it. I don't wonder you think so, but it ain't. Cohen—the fellow that owns the Emporium—was in only the day afore we left, hintin' around about my retirin' and so on. He didn't make any real bid for the business, but he as much as said he'd consider buyin' me out if I'd sell. Your mother, she'd give me fits if she knew it. She wants me to sell; but—but somehow I can't make up my mind to. I've been so used to goin' out to that store every mornin' and—and havin' it on my mind that somehow I hate to give it up. Seems like cuttin' my anchor rope, as you might say.”

“I understand. I shall feel much the same, I know, when I graduate and my college work is over. I shall be lost for a time without it; or I should be if it were not for John and—and my other plans. But, whether you keep the store or not, you mustn't worry any more, Daddy dear. Nathaniel is a clever, able fellow; every one says so. You were fortunate to get him. Why don't you engage him permanently? With his experience, he might make a real success of the business. Who knows?”

He could not possibly make less of a success than the captain had made, that was fairly certain, although she did not say so. Nathaniel Bangs was a Trumet young man who had been getting on well with a little business of his own in Brockton, but who, owing to ill health, had been obliged to return to the Cape the year before. Then, health much improved, he was very glad of the opportunity to take charge of the Metropolitan Store during its owners' short absence. Serena had thought of him, and Serena had hired him.

Captain Dan's real reason for not selling out to the astute Mr. Cohen he had kept to himself. His wife's hints concerning Scarford and her discontent in Trumet were his reasons. These were what troubled him most. He liked Trumet; he liked its quiet, easy-going atmosphere; he liked the Trumet people, and they liked him. He had never been in Scarford, but he was certain he should not like the life there, the kind of life lived by the B. Phelps Blacks, at any rate. The Metropolitan Store was, he felt, an anchor holding him fast to the Cape Cod village. If he cut the anchor rope, goodness knows where he might drift.

On the very day of their return from the Boston trip Serena had begun to discuss the visit to Scarford, the visit of inspection to Aunt Lavinia's “estate.” They must go, she said; of course they must go. It was their duty to do that, at least. How could they know what to do with the property until they saw it? To all Daniel's feeble objections and excuses she was deaf. Of course they could leave the house. Azuba would take care of that, just as she always did when they were away. As for the store, Nathaniel would be glad to remain as manager indefinitely if they wanted him. Surely he had done splendidly with it while they were in Boston.

He had. During the four days' absence of its proprietor the Metropolitan Store had actually sold more goods for cash than it had sold during any previous week that summer. Bangs was optimistic concerning its prospects. He was loaded with schemes and ideas.

“All you need is a little push and up-to-date methods, Cap'n,” he said. “You must advertise a little, and let people know what you've got to sell. That's how I got rid of all that stale candy you had in the boxes behind the showcase. I knew the Methodist folks had a Sunday school picnic on the slate for Tuesday. Kids like candy, but candy costs money. I got out all that stale stuff, put it up in bags at five cents apiece, and sent the bags and Sam here to the picnic. About every kid had ten cents or so to spend, and it didn't make any difference to him or her whether the candy was fresh or not, so there was enough of it. If a chocolate cream is harder than the rock of Gibraltar it lasts longer when you're eating it, and that's a big advantage to the average young one. Sam came back, sold out, and we've got four dollars and eighty cents right out of the junk pile, as you might call it. The kids are happy and so are we. There's a half-dozen dried-up oilskin coats in the attic that I've got my eye on. The Manonquit House crowd are going off on a final codfishing cruise to-morrow and I'll be on the dock with those coats at a dollar apiece when they sail.”

“But—but those coats are old as Methuselah,” faltered the captain. “They'll leak, won't they?”

“Not if it's fair weather, they won't. And, if it's rough, they're better than nothing. You can't expect a mackintosh for a dollar.”

Daniel's method would have been to refuse selling the coats because they “wouldn't be much good in a no'theaster.” When the codfishers returned, enthusiastic because, although it had “drizzled” for fifteen minutes, they had not gotten wet, he scratched his head and regarded his new assistant with awe. Mr. Bangs' services were retained, “for a spell, anyhow,” and the captain's principal excuse for not visiting Scarford was knocked in the head. To Scarford they went, and at the Palatine Hotel in Scarford they now were.

The 'table d'hote' meal eaten, the next feature of Mrs. Dott's program was the visit to the Aunt Lavinia homestead. There was a caretaker in charge, so the Boston lawyers told them, and Serena had written him announcing the coming of the new owners. In spite of her husband's protestations, another carriage was hired for the journey. Daniel was strongly in favor of walking or going by trolley.

“Walkin'll be cheaper, Serena,” he declared, “and pretty nigh as fast, to say nothin' of bein' more cheerful. A hack always makes me think of funerals and graveyards, and that skeleton of a horse looked like somethin' that had been buried and dug up. Let's walk, will you?”

But Serena would not walk.

“We must get used to carriages,” she said. “We may ride in them a great deal from now on. And, besides, we needn't take a horse carriage. We shouldn't have taken one before. Get one of those new kind, the automobile ones. What is it they call them? Oh, yes—taxis.”

The taxi gave no opportunity for complaint as far as slowness was concerned. After the first quarter of a mile dodge up the crowded street Captain Dan shouted through the window.

“Hi!” he hailed, addressing the driver. “Hi, you! You've made a mistake, ain't you? You thought we wanted to fly. We don't. Just hit the ground once in a while, so we'll know it's there.”

After this the cab moved at a more reasonable speed and its occupants had an opportunity to observe the streets through which they were passing. The business district was being left behind and they were entering the residential section.

Mrs. Dott seized her husband's arm.

“Look!” she cried. “Look, Daniel, quick! Do you see that? That building there!”

“I see it. Some kind of a hall or somethin', ain't it?”

“Yes. And I'm quite sure, from what Mrs. Black said, that it is the hall where the Scarford Guild meets. Yes, it's just as she said it was. I'm SURE that's it. Oh, I'm glad I've seen it! Yes, and Mrs. Black said they lived not very far from the hall. Daniel! Daniel! ask the man if he knows where the Blacks live and if he can show us their house.”

Captain Dan obediently made the inquiry.

“Who?” grunted the driver. “Which Black? Black and Cobb, the Wee Waist Corset feller? Sure! I know where he lives. I'll show you.”

A few moments later the cab slackened its speed.

“There you are!” said the driver, pointing. “That's Black's house. Built two years ago, 'twas.”

Serena and Daniel looked. The house was new and commodious, a trifle ornate in decoration, perhaps, and a bit mixed in architecture, owing to Mrs. Black's insisting upon the embodiment of various features which she had seen in magazines; but on the whole a rather fine house. To the Dotts, of course, it was a mansion.

“My!” said Serena, “to think of our knowing, really knowing, people who live in a house like that! Oh, dear!” with a sigh, “I almost wish I hadn't seen it until after we'd seen our own. We must try not to be disappointed, mustn't we?”

Captain Dan was surprised. “Disappointed?” he said. “Why, what do you mean? As I recollect Aunt Laviny's place, 'twas just as good as that, if not better. You said so yourself. You used to call it a regular palace.”

“I know, but don't you think that was because we hadn't seen many fine houses then? I'm afraid that was it. You know Mrs. Black said it was old-fashioned.”

“Humph! Barney—What's his name? Phelps, I mean—he said he wished his was as good. Don't you remember he did?”

“Probably he didn't mean it. I'm not going to expect too much, anyway. I'm going to try and think of it as just a nice old place, and then I shan't feel bad when I see it. I'm not going to get my expectations up or be a bit excited.”

In proof of the sincerity of this determination, she sat bolt upright on the seat and looked straight before her. Her husband, however, was staring out of the window with all his might.

“Say!” he exclaimed, “this is a mighty nice street, anyhow.”

“Is it? Is it really?” For a person not excited, Mrs. Dott's breathing was short and her fingers, tightly clasped in her lap, were trembling.

“You bet it is! Hey! Why, we're slowin' up! We're stoppin'.”

The cab drew up at the curb and came to a standstill.

“Here you are,” said the driver. “This is Number 180.”

Daniel made no reply. Leaning from the window, he was staring with all his might. Serena's impatience got the better of her.

“Well? WELL?” she burst forth. “What does it look like? Do say something!”

The captain drew back into the carriage.

“My—soul!” he exclaimed presently. “Look, Serena.”

Serena looked, and her look was a long one. Then, her face flushed and her eyes shining, she turned to her husband.

“Oh! Oh, Daniel!” she gasped. “It's as good as the Blacks', isn't it? I—I do believe it's better! Get out, quick!”

The caretaker, a middle-aged man with dark hair and mutton-chop whiskers, met them at the top of the stone steps leading to the front door. He bowed low.

“Good afternoon, ma'am,” he said. “Good afternoon, sir. Mr. Dott, ain't it, sir? And Mrs. Dott, ma'am. My name is 'Apgood, sir. I was expecting you. Will you be so good as to walk in?”

He threw open the door and, bowing once more, ushered them into the hall, a large, old-fashioned hall with lofty ceiling and a mahogany railed staircase.

“I presume, sir,” he said, addressing the captain, “that you and the madam would wish to 'ave me show you about a bit. I was Mrs. Dott's—the late Mrs. Dott's—butler when she resided 'ere, sir, and she was good enough to make me 'er caretaker when she went away, sir.”

Captain Dan, rather overawed by Mr. Hapgood's magnificent manner, observed that he wanted to know, adding that he had heard about the caretaking from the lawyers “up to Boston.” After an appraising glance at the speaker, Mr. Hapgood addressed his next remark to Serena.

“Shall I show you about the establishment, madam?” he asked.

Serena's composure was a triumph. An inexperienced observer might have supposed she had been accustomed to butlers and establishments all her life.

“Yes,” she said loftily, “you can show us.”

Mr. Hapgood was a person of wide experience; however, he merely bowed and led the way. Serena followed him, and Captain Dan followed Serena.

A large drawing-room, a library, a very large dining-room, five large bedrooms—“owners' and guest rooms,” Mr. Hapgood grandly termed them, to distinguish from the servants' quarters at the rear—billiard room, bathroom, and back to the hall again.

“You would wish to see the kitchens, I suppose, ma'am,” said Mr. Hapgood. “Doubtless Mr. Dott wouldn't care for those, sir. Most gentlemen don't. Perhaps, sir, you'd sit 'ere while the lady and I go through the service portion of the 'ouse, sir.”

Daniel, who was rather curious to see the “service portion,” partly because he had never heard of one before, hesitated. His wife, however, settled the question. She was conscious of a certain condescension in the Hapgood tone.

“Of course,” she said lightly, “Cap'n Dott will not go to the—er—service portion. Such things never interest him. Sit here, Daniel, and wait. Now—” cutting off just in time the “Mister” that was on the tip of her tongue and remembering how butlers in novels were invariably addressed—“Now—er—Hapgood, you can take me to the—ahem—kitchens.”

It was somewhat disappointing to find that the plural was merely a bit of verbal embroidery on the caretaking butler's part, and that there was but one kitchen, situated in the basement. However, it was of good size and well furnished with closets, the contents of which stirred Serena's housekeeping curiosity. The inspection of the kitchen and laundry took some time.

Meanwhile, upstairs in the dim front hall, Captain Dan sat upon a most uncomfortable carved teak-wood chair and looked about him. Through the doorway leading to the drawing-room—“front parlor,” he would have called it—he could see the ebony grand piano, the ormolu clock, and the bronze statuettes on the marble mantel, the buhl cabinet filled with bric-a-brac, the heavy mahogany-framed and silk-covered sofa. There were oil paintings on the walls, paintings which foreign dealers, recognizing Aunt Lavinia's art craving as a gift of Providence—to them—had sold her at high prices. They were, for the most part, landscapes, inclining strongly to snow-covered mountains, babbling brooks, and cows; or marines in which one-third of vivid sunset illumined two-thirds of placid sea. Of portraits there were two, Uncle Jim Dott in black broadcloth and dignity and Aunt Lavinia Dott in dignity and black satin.

Captain Dan felt strangely out of place alone amid this oppressive grandeur. Again, as on the memorable occasion of his first visit to the house, he was conscious of his hands and feet. Aunt Lavinia's likeness, staring stonily and paintily from the wall, seemed to regard him with disapproval, almost as if she were reading his thoughts. If the portrait could have spoken he might have expected it to say: “Here is the person upon whom all these, my worldly possessions, have been bestowed, and he does not appreciate them. There he sits, upon the teakwood chair which I myself bought in Cairo, and, so far from being grateful for the gifts which my generosity has poured into his lap, he is wondering what in the world to do with them, and wishing himself back in Trumet.”

Mrs. Dott and the caretaker reentered the hall.

“Thank you, Mr.—er—Thank you, Hapgood,” said the lady. “That will be all for to-day, I think. We will go now. Come, Daniel.”

Hapgood bowed. “You would wish me to stay 'ere as I've done, ma'am?” he asked.

“Yes. You may stay, for the present. Cap'n Dott and I will pay your regular wages as long as we need you.”

“Thank you kindly, ma'am. And might I take the liberty of saying that if you decide to stay 'ere permanently, ma'am, and need a butler or a manservant about the place, I should be glad to 'ave you consider me for the position. I'm sure it would 'ave pleased the late Mrs. Dott to 'ave you do so, ma'am.”

“Well,” said the captain, with surprising promptness for him, “you see, Mr. Hapgood, as far as that goes we ain't intendin' to—”

“Hush, Daniel. We don't know what we intend. You know that our plans are not settled as yet. We will consider the matter, Hapgood. Good day.”

“Good day, ma'am,” said Hapgood. “Good day, sir.”

He opened the big front door, bowed them out, and stood respectfully waiting as they descended the steps. The taxi driver, whom the captain had neglected to discharge or pay, was still there at the curb with his vehicle. Serena addressed him.

“The Palatine Hotel,” she said, with great distinctness. “Come, Daniel.”

They entered the cab. Captain Dan closed the door. The driver, looking up at Mr. Hapgood, grinned broadly. The latter gentleman glanced at the cab window to make sure that his visitors were not watching him, then he winked.

As the cab whizzed through the streets Serena gloated over the splendors of their new possessions. The house was finer than she expected, the furniture was so rich and high-toned, the pictures—did Daniel notice the pictures?

“And the location!” she cried ecstatically. “Right on the very best street in town, and yet, so the Hapgood man said, convenient to the theaters and the clubs and the halls. We saw the Ladies of Honor hall on the way up, Daniel, you remember.”

Daniel nodded. “Yes,” he admitted, “it's fine and convenient and all. We”—with a sidelong glance at his wife's face—“we ought to get a good rent for it if we decide not to sell; hey, Serena?”

Serena did not answer. When they reached the hotel she left her husband to settle with the driver and took the elevator to their room. A few minutes later the captain joined her. He looked as if suffering from shock.

“My heavens and earth, Serena!” he exclaimed, “what do you suppose that tax hack feller had the cheek to—”

“Sshh! shh!” interrupted the lady, who was reclining upon the couch. “Don't bother me now, Daniel. I don't want to be bothered with common every-day things now; I want to think.”

“Common! Everyday! My soul and body! if what that pirate charged me was everyday, I'd be in the poorhouse in a fortni't. Why—”

“Oh, don't! Please don't! Can't you see I am trying to realize that it's true and not a dream. That it has really happened—to ME. Please don't talk. Do go away, can't you? Just go out and take a walk, or something; just for a little while. I want to be alone.”

Captain Dan slowly descended the stairs. The elevator, of course, would have been quicker, but he was in no hurry. If he must walk, and it seemed that he must, he might as well begin at once. He descended the stairs to the ground floor of the hotel and wandered aimlessly about through the lobby into the billiard room, and finally to a plate glass door upon which was lettered the word “Rathskeller.”

What a Rathskeller might be he did not know, but, as there was another set of letters on the door and those spelled “Push,” he pushed.

The Rathskeller was a large room, with a bar at one end and many little tables scattered about. At these tables men were eating, drinking and smoking. A violin, harp and piano, played by a trio of Italians, were doing their worst with a popular melody.

The captain looked about him, selected one of three chairs at an unoccupied table, and sat down. A waiter drifted alongside.

“What'll you have, sir?” inquired the waiter.

“Hey? Oh, I don't know. Give me a cup of coffee.”

“Coffee? Yes, sir. Anything to eat?”

“No, I guess not. I've had my dinner.”

“Smoke?”

“Well, you might bring me a ten-cent cigar.”

The coffee and cigar were brought. Daniel lit the latter, took a sip of the former and listened to the music. This was not taking a walk exactly, but, so far as leaving his wife alone was concerned, it answered the purpose.

The room, already well tenanted, gradually filled. Groups of men entered, stopped to glance at the tape of a sporting news ticker near the bar, exchanged a word or two with the bartenders, and then selected tables. Several times the two vacant chairs at the captain's table were on the point of being taken, but each time the prospective occupants went elsewhere.

At length, however, two young men, laughing and talking rather loudly, sauntered through the room. One of them paused.

“Here are a couple,” he said, indicating the chairs.

His companion, an undersized, dapper individual, whose raiment—suit, socks, shirt, shoes, hat and tie—might comprehensively be described as a symphony in brown, paused also, turned and looked at the chairs, then at the table, and finally at the captain.

“Yes,” he drawled, regarding the latter fixedly, “so I see. Well, perhaps we can't do better. This place is getting too infernally common, though. Don't think I shall come here again. If it wasn't that they put up the best cocktail in town I should have quit before. All right, this will have to do, I suppose.”

He seated himself in one of the chairs. His friend followed suit. The watchful waiter was on hand immediately.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said, bowing obsequiously.

Neither of the young men acknowledged the bow or the greeting, although it was evident that the waiter was an old acquaintance. The symphony in brown did not even turn his head.

“Two dry Martinis,” he said. “And mind that they ARE dry. Have Charlie make them himself. If that other fellow does it I'll send them back.”

“Yes, sir. All right, sir. Will you have a bit of lunch with them, sir? Caviare sandwich or—”

“No.”

“Shall I bring cigars, sir?”

“Lord, no! The last I had here nearly poisoned me. Get the cocktails and be lively about it.”

The waiter departed. The young gentleman drew a gold cigarette case from his pocket.

“Here you are,” he drawled, proffering the case. “Cigars!” with a contemptuous laugh. “They buy their cigars by the yard, at the rope walk. Fact, Monty; take my word for it.”

“Monty” laughed. “That's pretty rough, Tacks,” he declared.

“Oh, but it's so. You can actually smell the hemp. Eh? By gad, you can smell it now, can't you?”

Captain Dan was relighting the stump of his “ten-center” which had gone out. He had scarcely noticed the newcomers; his thoughts were far away from Scarford and the Palatine Hotel. Now, however, he suddenly became aware that his tablemates were regarding him and the cigar with apparent amusement. He smiled good naturedly.

“Been runnin' her too low,” he observed. “Have to get up steam if I want to be in at the finish.”

This nautical remark was received with blank stares. “Monty” turned his shoulder toward the speaker. “Tacks” did not even turn; he continued to stare. The arrival of the cocktails was the next happening of importance.

“I say, Tacks,” observed Monty, leaning back in his chair and sipping his Martini, “how are you getting on? Made up your mind what to do?”

“No,” shortly.

“Going to fight, are you?”

“No use. The confounded lawyers say I wouldn't have a show.”

“Humph! Low-down trick of the old woman's, wasn't it, giving you the shake that way? Everybody thought you were her pet weakness. We used to envy your soft snap. Did you get the go-by altogether?”

“Pretty near. Got a little something, but it was precious little.”

“Can you pull through on it?”

“'Twill be a devilish hard pull.”

“Too bad, old man. But cheer up! You'll come out on top. Have another one of these things?”

“All right.”

More Martinis were ordered. “Monty” and his friend lit fresh cigarettes. The former asked another question.

“Who are the lucky winners?” he inquired. “Some country cousins or other, I know that; but who are they?”

“Oh, I don't know. Yes, I know; but what difference does it make?”

“Isn't there a girl somewhere in the crowd?”

“Yes, but—” He broke off. Captain Dan was regarding him intently.

“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Uncle?” drawled “Tacks,” with bland sarcasm.

Daniel was taken aback.

“Why,” he stammered, “I—I don't know's there is.”

“Shall I speak a little louder? Possibly that might help. Delighted to oblige, I'm sure.”

This was plain enough, certainly. The captain colored. His confusion increased.

“I—I hope you don't think I was listenin' to you and your friend's talk,” he protested hastily. “I wasn't. Why, if—if you two would like this table to yourself you can have it just as well as not. I can go somewhere else. You see, I was thinkin'—when you spoke to me—I was thinkin' there was somethin' familiar about your face. Seemed as if I'd seen you somewhere before, that's all; and—”

The young gentleman in brown interrupted him. “You're mistaken,” he said, “I was never there.” Then, turning to his friend, he added, with an elaborate “Josh Whitcomb” accent: “Monty, 'taters must be lookin' up. All aour folks have come to town to spend their money.”

Monty, upon whom, like his companion, the second cocktail—second in this particular sense—there had been others—seemed to be having some effect, laughed uproariously. Even the joker himself deigned to smile. Captain Dan did not smile. He had risen, preparatory to leaving the table; now he slowly sat down again.

“I guess I WAS mistaken,” he said gravely. “I guess you're right about my not havin' seen you before. If I had I wouldn't have forgot where.”

Monty evidently thought it his turn to be funny.

“You have a good memory, haven't you, Deacon?” he observed.

The captain looked at him.

“That don't necessarily follow, young man,” he said. “There's some things you CAN'T forget.”

There was a choking sound at the next table; a stout man there seemed to be having trouble in swallowing. Those with him looked strangely happy, considering.

“Tacks” frowned, pushed back his chair and stood up.

“Come on, Monty,” he growled. “This place is going to the dogs. They let ANYTHING in here now.”

Daniel turned to the stout man and his party.

“That's strange, ain't it?” he said in a tone of grave surprise. “I was just thinkin' that myself.”

Then, his cigar smoked to the bitter end, he, too, rose, and, declining the invitations of the stout man and his friends to have something “because he had earned it,” he walked out of the Rathskeller and took the elevator to the third floor.

He opened the door of the room gently and entered on tiptoe, for he thought it likely that Serena was taking a nap. She was not, however; on the contrary, she was very wide awake.

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “I've been waiting and waiting for you.”

Daniel chuckled.

“I've been down below in a place they call the Rat Cellar, or some such name,” he said. “The rats was there, two of 'em, anyhow. And I'd met one of 'em before. I know I have. I wish I could think who he was. A sort of—”

But Serena was not listening.

“Daniel,” she interrupted, “it is all settled. I have made up my mind.”

Her voice was tremulous with excitement. Captain Dan looked at her.

“Made up your mind?” he repeated. “I want to know! What about?”

“About our plans and our future, Daniel; my opportunity has come, the opportunity I was wishing for. It has been sent to me by Providence, I do believe—and it would be wicked not to take advantage of it. Daniel, you and I must move to Scarford.”

The captain gasped.

“Why—why, Serena,” he faltered. “What are you talkin' about? DON'T talk so! Move to Scarford! Give up Trumet and—”

“Trumet! Don't mention Trumet to me. Daniel Dott, you'll never get me back to Trumet again—to live there, I mean—never, never, NEVER!”