Mrs. Atchison and Ardmore had given their last touches to the preparations for the dinner. Every window of the great house shone and a myriad of lanterns illuminated the lawns and terraces. The flags of North and South Carolina were everywhere entwined; nor were the stars and stripes neglected. They surveyed the long table in the dining-room, where gold and silver and crystal were bright upon the snowy napery.

"The matter of precedence is serious, Tommy," urged Mrs. Atchison. "I can not for the life of me remember what two monarchs do about entering a room at the same time."

"Nor do I, Nellie," said Ardmore; "unless they sprint for the door and the one who gets through first takes the head of the table. Still, that would be undignified, particularly if the kings were old and fat, and if they bumped going through the door and took a header it would jar the divine right."

"Here in democratic America," said Griswold, joining them, "there can be no such preposterous idea of precedence."

"I should think better of that notion, Professor Griswold," laughed Mrs. Atchison, "if I had never seen the goats carefully shepherded to keep them away from the lambs at functions in Washington. Democracy may be a political triumph, but it is certainly deficient socially. Personally I have always wished to bring myself in touch with the poor. Ardy is quite right that our own kind are distinctly uninteresting."

"You ought to remember, Nellie, that your idea of going slumming in a purple coupÉ and dressed up in your best rags is not well calculated to inspire confidence and affection among the submerged. But how to handle two governors has me fussed. You are the hostess, and it's for you to decide which excellency shall take you in. I see no way out but to match for it."

"That will be unnecessary," said Mrs. Atchison, "for the doors and the hall are broad enough for a dozen governors to march in abreast."

"That would never do, Nellie! You don't understand these things. You can't hitch up a brace of American governors in a team and drive them like a pair of horses. At least, speaking for the Old North State, I will say that we can never consent to any such compromise."

"And I, speaking for the great Palmetto Commonwealth, not less emphatically reject the idea!" declared Griswold.

"Then," said Mrs. Atchison, "there is only one possible solution. When the rest of us have entered the dining-room and taken our places, a bugle will sound; the governor of North Carolina shall enter from the north door; the governor of South Carolina from the south door, and advance to seats facing each other midway of the table. Professor Griswold, you are an old friend of the family, and you shall yourself take me in to dinner."

The members of Mrs. Atchison's house party, well distributed among the official guests, were still somewhat at a loss to know what had happened, but it seemed to be in the air that Tommy Ardmore had at last done something, though just what was not wholly clear. It was sufficiently obvious, however, that the little girl with blue eyes who had the drollest possible way of talking, and whom one never seemed able to take off guard, had seized strong hold upon the master of Ardsley; and she, on her part, treated him with the most provoking condescension. It was agreed by all that Miss Osborne was distinguished and lovely and that Professor Griswold did not seem out of place at her side.

The talk grew general after the first restraint was over, and Mrs. Atchison dropped just the right word here and there to keep the ball rolling. Governor Osborne had generously forgotten and forgiven his painful incarceration in the corn-crib, and he and Governor Dangerfield vied with each other in avowing their determination to live up to the high standards that had been set for them by their daughters.

Both governors had at almost the same moment turned down their glasses. It even seemed that they had been drilled in the part, so dexterous were they in reversing them, so nimbly did they put from them the hope of wine. The members of the house-party noted this act of the two governors with well-bred surprise; and Ardmore was grieved, feeling that in some measure the illustrious guests were criticizing his hospitality. The butler at this moment spoke to him, and much relieved he smiled and nodded. A moment later two jugs, two little brown jugs, were carried in, and one was placed quietly in front of each governor at precisely the same moment. Expectation was instantly a-tiptoe.

"Gentlemen," said Ardmore, addressing the governors, "these jugs have just been left at the house by our old friend, Mr. Bill Appleweight, alias Poteet, with his compliments, for the governors of the two greatest states in the Union. I note that there's a bit of pink calico around the stopper of Governor Dangerfield's jug, while Governor Osborne's is garnished with blue and white gingham."

Governor Osborne rose.

"In politics," he began, resting his hand gently on the jug, "it would be a fine thing if we could all live up to our noblest ideals, but unfortunately we must be all things to all men. What I have here is not merely the testimonial of a valued constituent, but something much subtler than that, ladies and gentlemen—a delicate proof that those of us who would command the good-will and suffrages of the people must keep a careful eye on the weather-vane. This jug, which you probably all believe contains the rude product of some hidden still, is as equivocal as a political platform. I will illustrate my meaning."

All eyes were bent upon the governor of South Carolina as he picked up the jug, twisted the cob stopper for a moment, and then poured into a tumbler which the butler placed for him, a clear white fluid; then, turning the stopper slightly, he poured into another glass a thick milk-like liquid.

"When among my constituents I almost invariably call for a gourd for drinking purposes in preference to a tumbler; but in this company I shall abandon a custom of the plain people and yield to the habits of the sons of Mammon. I am here, I take it, once more in my official capacity as governor of South Carolina, and as I am not one to offend the best sentiments of my people, I pledge you, my friends, not in the untaxed corn whisky of Appleweight's private still, but in the excellent and foamy buttermilk of Mrs. Appleweight's homely churn."

As he concluded, Governor Dangerfield rose and performed exactly the same solemn rite with the jug before him, pouring whisky into one glass, buttermilk into the other, and leaning across the table he touched his tumbler of buttermilk to that extended by Governor Osborne. When the applause that greeted this exchange of courtesies had subsided, Governor Dangerfield was still standing, and in a quiet conversational tone, and with a manner engagingly frank, he said:

"Before it seemed expedient to follow the reform bandwagon, I held certain principles touching the drinking habit. But the American bar has destroyed drinking as a fine art, and it has now become a vulgar habit. In the good old times no gentleman ever jumped at his liquor. He took it with a casual air, even with a sanctifying reluctance. The idea of rushing into a public place and gulping your liquor is repugnant to the most primary of the instincts that govern gentlemen. To precipitate a gill of applejack into that most delicate organism, the human stomach, without the slightest warning, is an insult to the human body,—ay, more, it is an outrage upon man's very soul. The aim of liquor, ladies and gentlemen, is to stay and lift the spirit, not to degrade it. Drinking at proper intervals ceased to be respectable at a fixed date in human progress—to be exact, at the moment when it was no longer a mere incident of personal or social recreation but had become a sociological and political issue, staggering drunkenly under a weary burden of most painful statistics."

"You are eminently right, Governor Dangerfield," said the governor of South Carolina, helping himself to the salted almonds; "but you have used a phrase which piques my curiosity. Will you kindly enlighten us as to how you interpret proper intervals?"

"With greatest pleasure," responded Governor Dangerfield. "I remember, as though it were yesterday, my venerable grandfather saying that no gentleman should ever approach the sideboard oftener than once before breakfast, and he was himself a very early riser. I discount this, however, because he always slept with a jug of Cuban rum—the annual offering of a West Indian friend—easily within his reach at the head of his bed. It was his practice for years to sip a little rum and water while he shaved. He was a gentleman if ever I knew one and as I look upon him as a standard authority in all matters of deportment and morals, I may safely cite him further in answer to your question.

"During the long open season in our country my grandfather constantly rode over the plantation in immaculate white duck followed by a darky on a mule carrying a basket. On our ancestral estate there were many springs giving the purest and coldest of water, and these were providentially scattered at the most convenient intervals for my grandfather's comfort. And as a slight return to nature for what she had done for him in this particular, my grandfather, in his early youth, had planted mint around all these springs. I need hardly point out the advantages of this happiest of combinations—a spring of clear, icy water; the pungent bouquet of lush mint; the ample basket home by a faithful negro, and my grandfather, in his white duck suit and a Panama hat a yard wide, seated by the mossy spring, selecting with the most delicate care the worthiest of the fragrant leaves.

"Now"—and Governor Dangerfield smiled—"I can see that you are all busy guessing at the number of stops made by my grandfather in the course of a day, and I hasten to satisfy your curiosity. My grandfather always started out at six o'clock in the morning, and the springs were so arranged that he had to make six stops before noon, and four in the afternoon; but at five o'clock, when he reached home all fagged out by a hard day's work and sorely needing refreshment, a pitcher of cherry bounce was waiting for him on the west gallery of the house. After that he took nothing but a night-cap on retiring for the night. To my friend, the governor of South Carolina, I need offer no apologies for my grandfather, once a senator in Congress, and a man distinguished for his sobriety and probity. He was an upright man and a gentleman, and died at ninety-two, full of years and honors, and complaining, almost with his last breath, of a distressing dusty feeling in the throat."

When, as time passed, it seemed that every one had told a story or made a speech, it was Ardmore's inspiration that Griswold should sing a song. The associate professor of admiralty in the University of Virginia had already pledged the loyalty of his state to her neighbors and twin sisters, the Carolinas, and Barbara, who wore a great bunch of her own white roses, had listened to him with a new respect and interest, for he spoke well, with the special grace of speech that men of his state have, and with little turns of humor that kept the table bubbling merrily.

"I shall comply with your request, my friends, if you can bear with the poor voice of one long out of tune, and if our host still has in the house a certain ancient guitar I remember from old times. But I must impose one condition, that I shall not again in this place be called by my academic title. I have known wars and the shock of battle along the Raccoon"—here his hand went to his lips in the gesture that had so often distressed Ardmore—"and I have known briefly the joy of a military title. Miss Osborne conferred on me in an emergency the noble title of major, and by it I demand hereafter to be known."

The governor of South Carolina was promptly upon his feet.

"Henry Maine Griswold," he said in his most official manner, "I hereby appoint you a major on my staff with all the rights, privileges and embarrassments thereunto belonging, and you shall to-morrow attend me personally in my inspection of our troops in the field."

As the guitar was placed in Griswold's hands, Ardmore caused all the lights to be turned out save those on the table. In the soft candle-glow Ardmore bent his face upon Jerry, who had been merrily chaffing him at intervals, but who feigned at other times an utter ignorance of his presence on earth. As Griswold's voice rose in the mellow dusk it seemed to Ardmore that the song spoke things he could not, like his friend, put into utterance, and something fine and sweet and hallowed—that sweet sabbath of the soul that comes with first love—possessed him, and he ceased looking at Jerry, but bent his head and was lost in dreams. For the song and the voice were both beyond what the company had expected. It was an old air that Griswold sang, and it gave charm to his words, which were those of a man who loves deeply and who dares speak them to the woman he loves. They rose and fell in happy cadences, and every word rang clear. In the longer lines of the song there was a quickening of time that carried the sense of passion, and Griswold lifted his head when he uttered them and let them cry out of him.

One of Barbara's white roses had fallen into her lap and she played with it idly; but after the first verse it slipped from her fingers and she folded her arms on the table and bent her gaze on the quiet flame of the candle before her. And this was the song that Griswold sang:

The last words hung tremulously, tenderly, on the air, and left a spell upon the company that no one seemed anxious to break; then there was long applause and cries of encore; but Ardmore, who knew that his friend had been greatly moved, drew attention away from him to Collins, who had just entered the room.

The correspondent had been called away shortly before from the table, and he wore the serious air of one heavy with news.

"I beg to report that I have just completed a treaty with the journalists assembled in the cellar."

"I hope, Mr. Collins, that the journalists' convention below stairs realized that the lobster we sent them for supper was not canned, and that the mushrooms were creamed for their refreshment by Mrs. Atchison's special command. It is not for us to trifle with the dignity of the press," said Jerry.

"The reputations of two governors and of two states are in their hands," said the governor of South Carolina, with feeling. "It would be a distressing end of my public services if the truth of all these matters should be known. The fact that Governor Dangerfield and I had merely withdrawn from public life for a little quiet poker in the country would sound like the grossest immorality to my exacting constituency."

"Both yourself and Governor Dangerfield will be relieved to know that they have accepted my terms and all is well," responded Collins. "They will tell the waiting world that you have both been the guests of Mr. Ardmore, and that the troops assembled on the Raccoon are merely at their usual summer maneuvers. As for Appleweight, it has seemed expedient that he should be dead, and the man who has been called by that name of late is only an impostor seeking a little cheap notoriety. The boys are very sick of the cellar, and they would do even more than this to get away."

"Mr. Collins," said Governor Dangerfield, rising, "your great merits shall not go unrewarded. I have carelessly neglected to appoint a delegate from North Carolina to the annual conference of the Supreme Lodge of the Society of American Liars shortly to meet at Lake Placid, New York. As a slight testimonial of my confidence and admiration, I hereby appoint you to represent the Old North State at that meeting, and your expenses shall be paid from the public purse."

"The boys wish to see your excellencies before they leave," said Collins when he had acknowledged the governor's compliment; and as he spoke the sound of great cheering broke through the windows, and Mrs. Atchison promptly rose and led the way to the broad terraces which were now gay with colored lanterns.

"Speech! Speech!" cried the corps of correspondents. Then Ardmore seized Governor Osborne's hand and led him forward to the balustrade; but before the governor of South Carolina could speak the group of newspaper men began chanting, in the manner of a college antiphonal:

"Gentlemen," began Governor Osborne, speaking with great deliberation, "I am profoundly touched by the cordiality of your greeting. (Applause.) Amid the perplexities of my official life I am deeply sensible always of the consideration and generosity of our free and untrammeled American press. (Cheers.) Without your support and approval, my best aims, my sincerest endeavors in behalf of the people, must fall short and fail of their purpose. (A voice: You're dead right about that.) I am proud of this opportunity to greet this most complimentary delegation of men distinguished in the noble profession of which Greeley, Raymond and Dana were the high ornaments. (Cheers.) I look into your upturned faces as into the faces of old friends. But I dare not—(A voice: Oh, don't be afraid, Governor!)—I dare not take too personally this expression of your good-will. It is not myself but the great state of South Carolina that you honor, and on behalf of mine own people, who have always stood sturdily for the great principles of the constitution; (Cheers) who have failed in no hour of the country's need, but have tilled their fields in peace and defended them in the dark days of war, I thank you, my friends, with all my heart, again and again." (Applause and cheers.)

"On an occasion so purely social as this," began Governor Dangerfield, balancing himself lightly upon the balustrade, "it would be most indelicate for me to discuss any of the great issues of the day. (A voice: Oh, I don't know!) I indorse, with all the strength of my being, and with all the sincerity of which my heart is capable, the stirring tribute paid to your noble profession by my friend, known far and near, and justly known, as the great reform governor of South Carolina. (Cheers.) I am proud that the American press is incorruptible. (Cheers.) Great commercial nation though we be, the American newspaper—the American newspaper, I say, is one thing that is never for sale. (Applause and cheers.) The temptation is strong upon me to take advantage of this gathering of representative journalists to speak—not of the fathers of the constitution, not of Jefferson or Jackson, but of living men and living issues (Cheers and cries of Let 'er go!); but the hour is late (A voice: Oh, not on Broadway, William!) and, to repeat, it would be the height of impropriety—a betrayal of the bountiful hospitality we have all enjoyed (A voice: Our lobster was all right. Another voice, with ironical inflection; This lobster is all right!), a betrayal, I say, of hospitality for me to do more, gentlemen, than to thank you, and to say that in your strong hands the liberties of the people are safe indeed." (Prolonged cheering.)

As the correspondents marched away to take the special train provided for them at Kildare by Ardmore, they continued to cheer, and they were still demanding, as long as their cries could be heard at Ardsley:

With a sigh Ardmore left them at the great gates of Ardsley and returned to the house to find Jerry; but that young woman was the center of a wide circle of admiring militia officers, and the master of Ardsley was so depressed by the spectacle that he sought a dim corner of the grounds where there was a stone bench by a fountain, and there, to his confusion, he beheld Miss Barbara Osborne and Henry Maine Griswold; and Miss Osborne, it seemed, was in the act of fastening a white rose in Professor Griswold's coat.