The Lion and The Mouse: A Story Of American Life

by Charles Klein and Arthur Hornblow

  CHAPTER VI

  A month had passed since the memorable meeting of the directors ofthe Southern and Transcontinental Railroad in New York and duringthat time neither John Burkett Ryder nor Judge Rossmore had beenidle. The former had immediately set in motion the machinery hecontrolled in the Legislature at Washington, while the judgeneglected no step to vindicate himself before the public.

  Ryder, for reasons of his own--probably because he wished to makethe blow the more crushing when it did fall--had insisted on theproceedings at the board meeting being kept a profound secret andsome time elapsed before the newspapers got wind of the comingCongressional inquiry. No one had believed the stories about JudgeRossmore but now that a quasi-official seal had been set on thecurrent gossip, there was a howl of virtuous indignation from thejournalistic muck rakers. What was the country coming to? theycried in double leaded type. After the embezzling by lifeinsurance officers, the rascality of the railroads, the looting ofcity treasuries, the greed of the Trusts, the grafting of thelegislators, had arisen a new and more serious scandal--thecorruption of the Judiciary. The last bulwark of the nation hadfallen, the country lay helpless at the mercy of legalizedsandbaggers. Even the judges were no longer to be trusted, themost respected one among them all had been unable to resist thetempter. The Supreme Court, the living voice of the Constitution,was honeycombed with graft. Public life was rotten to the core!

  Neither the newspapers nor the public stopped to ascertain thetruth or the falsity of the charges against Judge Rossmore. It wassufficient that the bribery story furnished the daily sensationwhich newspaper editors and newspaper readers must have. The worldis ever more prompt to believe ill rather than good of a man, andno one, except in Rossmore's immediate circle of friends,entertained the slightest doubt of his guilt. It was commonknowledge that the "big interests" were behind the proceedings,and that Judge Rossmore was a scapegoat, sacrificed by the Systembecause he had been blocking their game. If Rossmore had reallyaccepted the bribe, and few now believed him spotless, he deservedall that was coming to him. Senator Roberts was very active inWashington preparing the case against Judge Rossmore. The latterbeing a democrat and "the interests" controlling a Republicanmajority in the House, it was a foregone conclusion that theinquiry would be against him, and that a demand would at once bemade upon the Senate for his impeachment.

  Almost prostrated by the misfortune which had so suddenly andunexpectedly come upon him, Judge Rossmore was like a mandemented. His reason seemed to be tottering, he spoke and actedlike a man in a dream. Naturally he was entirely incapacitated forwork and he had applied to Washington to be temporarily relievedfrom his judicial duties. He was instantly granted a leave ofabsence and went at once to his home in Madison Avenue, where heshut himself up in his library, sitting for hours at his deskwrestling with documents and legal tomes in a pathetic endeavourto find some way out, trying to elude this net in which unseenhands had entangled him.

  What an end to his career! To have struggled and achieved for halfa century, to have built up a reputation year by year, as a manbuilds a house brick by brick, only to see the whole crumble tohis feet like dust! To have gained the respect of the country, tohave made a name as the most incorruptible of public servants andnow to be branded as a common bribe taker! Could he be dreaming?It was too incredible! What would his daughter say--his Shirley?Ah, the thought of the expression of incredulity and wonder on herface when she heard the news cut him to the heart like a knifethrust. Yet, he mused, her very unwillingness to believe it shouldreally be his consolation. Ah, his wife and his child--they knewhe had been innocent of wrong doing. The very idea was ridiculous.At most he had been careless. Yes, he was certainly to blame. Heought to have seen the trap so carefully prepared and into whichhe had walked as if blindfolded. That extra $50,000 worth ofstock, on which he had never received a cent interest, had beenthe decoy in a carefully thought out plot. They, the plotters,well knew how ignorant he was of financial matters and he had beenan easy victim. Who would believe his story that the stock hadbeen sent to him with a plausibly-worded letter to the effect thatit represented a bonus on his own investment? Now he came to thinkof it, calmly and reasonably, he would not believe it himself. Asusual, he had mislaid or destroyed the secretary's letter andthere was only his word against the company's books to substantiatewhat would appear a most improbable if not impossible occurrence.

  It was his conviction of his own good faith that made his presentdilemma all the more cruel. Had he really been a grafter, had hereally taken the stock as a bribe he would not care so much, forthen he would have foreseen and discounted the chances ofexposure. Yes, there was no doubt possible. He was the victim of aconspiracy, there was an organized plot to ruin him, to get himout of the way. The "interests" feared him, resented his judicialdecisions and they had halted at nothing to accomplish theirpurpose. How could he fight them back, what could he do to protecthimself? He had no proofs of a conspiracy, his enemies worked inthe dark, there was no way in which he could reach them or knowwho they were.

  He thought of John Burkett Ryder. Ah, he remembered now. Ryder wasthe man who had recommended the investment in Alaskan stock. Ofcourse, why did he not think of it before? He recollected that atthe time he had been puzzled at receiving so much stock and he hadmentioned it to Ryder, adding that the secretary had told him itwas customary. Oh, why had he not kept the secretary's letter? ButRyder would certainly remember it. He probably still had his twoletters in which he spoke of making the investment. If thoseletters could be produced at the Congressional inquiry they wouldclear him at once. So losing no time, and filled with renewed hopehe wrote to the Colossus a strong, manly letter which would havemelted an iceberg, urging Mr. Ryder to come forward now at thiscritical time and clear him of this abominable charge, or in anycase to kindly return the two letters he must have in hispossession, as they would go far to help him at the trial. Threedays passed and no reply from Ryder. On the fourth came a politebut frigid note from Mr. Ryder's private secretary. Mr. Ryder hadreceived Judge Rossmore's letter and in reply begged to state thathe had a vague recollection of some conversation with the judge inregard to investments, but he did not think he had advised thepurchase of any particular stock, as that was something he neverdid on principle, even with his most intimate friends. He had nowish to be held accountable in case of loss, etc. As to the letterwhich Judge Rossmore mentioned as having written to Mr. Ryder inregard to having received more stock than he had bought, of thatMr. Ryder had no recollection whatsoever. Judge Rossmore wasprobably mistaken as to the identity of his correspondent. Heregretted he could not be of more service to Judge Rossmore, andremained his very obedient servant.

  It was very evident that no help was to be looked for in thatquarter. There was even decided hostility in Ryder's reply. Couldit be true that the financier was really behind these attacks uponhis character, was it possible that one man merely to make moremoney would deliberately ruin his fellow man whose hand he hadgrasped in friendship? He had been unwilling to believe it whenhis friend ex-judge Stott had pointed to Ryder as the author ofall his misfortunes, but this unsympathetic letter with itsfalsehoods, its lies plainly written all over its face, was proofenough. Yes, there was now no doubt possible. John Burkett Ryderwas his enemy and what an enemy! Many a man had committed suicidewhen he had incurred the enmity of the Colossus. Judge Rossmore,completely discouraged, bowed his head to the inevitable.

  His wife, a nervous, sickly woman, was helpless to comfort or aidhim. She had taken their misfortune as a visitation of aninscrutable Deity. She knew, of course, that her husband waswholly innocent of the accusations brought against him and if hischaracter could be cleared and himself rehabilitated before theworld, she would be the first to rejoice. But if it pleased theAlmighty in His wisdom to sorely try her husband and herself andinflict this punishment upon them it was not for the finite mindto criticise the ways of Providence. There was probably some goodreason for the apparent cruelty and injustice of it which theirearthly
understanding failed to grasp. Mrs. Rossmore found muchcomfort in this philosophy, which gave a satisfactory ending toboth ends of the problem, and she was upheld in her view by therector of the church which she had attended regularly each Sundayfor the past five and twenty years. Christian resignation in thehour of trial, submission to the will of Heaven were, declared herspiritual adviser, the fundamental principles of religion. Hecould only hope that Mrs. Rossmore would succeed in imbuing herhusband with her Christian spirit. But when the judge's wifereturned home and saw the keen mental distress of the man who hadbeen her companion for twenty-five long years, the comforter inher sorrows, the joy and pride of her young wifehood, she forgotall about her smug churchly consoler, and her heart went out toher husband in a spontaneous burst of genuine human sympathy. Yes,they must do something at once. Where men had failed perhaps awoman could do something. She wanted to cable at once for Shirley,who was everything in their household--organizer, manager,adviser--but the judge would not hear of it. No, his daughter wasenjoying her holiday in blissful ignorance of what had occurred.He would not spoil it for her. They would see; perhaps thingswould improve. But he sent for his old friend ex-Judge Stott.

  They were life-long friends, having become acquainted nearlythirty years ago at the law school, at the time when both wereyoung men about to enter on a public career. Stott, who wasRossmore's junior, had begun as a lawyer in New York and soonacquired a reputation in criminal practice. He afterwards becameassistant district attorney and later, when a vacancy occurred inthe city magistrature, he was successful in securing theappointment. On the bench he again met his old friend Rossmore andthe two men once more became closely intimate. The regular courthours, however, soon palled on a man of Judge Stott's nervoustemperament and it was not long before he retired to take up oncemore his criminal practice. He was still a young man, not yetfifty, and full of vigor and fight. He had a blunt manner but hisheart was in the right place, and he had a record as clean as hisclose shaven face. He was a hard worker, a brilliant speaker andone of the cleverest cross-examiners at the bar. This was the manto whom Judge Rossmore naturally turned for legal assistance.

  Stott was out West when he first heard of the proceedings againsthis old friend, and this indignity put upon the only really honestman in public life whom he knew, so incensed him that he wasalready hurrying back to his aid when the summons reached him.

  Meantime, a fresh and more serious calamity had overwhelmed JudgeRossmore. Everything seemed to combine to break the spirit of thisman who had dared defy the power of organized capital. Hardly hadthe news of the Congressional inquiry been made public, than thefinancial world was startled by an extraordinary slump in WallStreet. There was nothing in the news of the day to justify adecline, but prices fell and fell. The bears had it all their ownway, the big interests hammered stocks all along the line,"coppers" especially being the object of attack. The market closedfeverishly and the next day the same tactics were pursued. Fromthe opening, on selling orders coming from no one knew where,prices fell to nothing, a stampede followed and before long itbecame a panic. Pandemonium reigned on the floor of the StockExchange. White faced, dishevelled brokers shouted and struggledlike men possessed to execute the orders of their clients. Bigfinancial houses, which stood to lose millions on a fallingmarket, rallied and by rush orders to buy, attempted to stem thetide, but all to no purpose. One firm after another went by theboard unable to weather the tempest, until just before closingtime, the stock ticker announced the failure of the GreatNorthwestern Mining Co. The drive in the market had beenprincipally directed against its securities, and after vainlyendeavoring to check the bear raid, it had been compelled todeclare itself bankrupt. It was heavily involved, assets nil,stock almost worthless. It was probable that the creditors wouldnot see ten cents on the dollar. Thousands were ruined and JudgeRossmore among them. All the savings of a lifetime--nearly $55,000were gone. He was practically penniless, at a time when he neededmoney most. He still owned his house in Madison Avenue, but thatwould have to go to settle with his creditors. By the timeeverything was paid there would only remain enough for a modestcompetence. As to his salary, of course he could not touch that solong as this accusation was hanging over his head. And if he wereimpeached it would stop altogether. The salary, therefore, was notto be counted on. They must manage as best they could and livemore cheaply, taking a small house somewhere in the outskirts ofthe city where he could prepare his case quietly withoutattracting attention.

  Stott thought this was the best thing they could do and hevolunteered to relieve his friend by taking on his own hands allthe arrangements of the sale of the house and furniture, whichoffer the judge accepted only too gladly. Meantime, Mrs. Rossmorewent to Long Island to see what could be had, and she found at thelittle village of Massapequa just what they were looking for--acommodious, neatly-furnished two-story cottage at a modest rental.Of course, it was nothing like what they had been accustomed to,but it was clean and comfortable, and as Mrs. Rossmore said,rather tactlessly, beggars cannot be choosers. Perhaps it wouldnot be for long. Instant possession was to be had, so deposit waspaid on the spot and a few days later the Rossmores left theirmansion on Madison Avenue and took up their residence inMassapequa, where their advent created quite a fluster in localsocial circles.

  Massapequa is one of the thousand and one flourishing communitiesscattered over Long Island, all of which are apparently modelledafter the same pattern. Each is an exact duplicate of itsneighbour in everything except the name--the same untidy railroadstation, the same sleepy stores, the same attractive little frameresidences, built for the most part on the "Why pay Rent? Own yourown Home" plan. A healthy boom in real estate imparts plenty oflife to them all and Massapequa is particularly famed as being theplace where the cat jumped to when Manhattan had to seek an outletfor its congested population and ever-increasing army of homeseekers. Formerly large tracts of flat farm lands, only sparselyshaded by trees, Massapequa, in common with other villages of itskind, was utterly destitute of any natural attractions. There wasthe one principal street leading to the station, with a fewscattered stores on either side, a church and a bank. Happily,too, for those who were unable to survive the monotony of theplace, it boasted of a pretty cemetery. There were also a numberof attractive cottages with spacious porches hung with honeysuckleand of these the Rossmores occupied one of the less pretentiouskind.

  But although Massapequa, theoretically speaking, was situated onlya stone's throw from the metropolis, it might have been situatedin the Great Sahara so far as its inhabitants took any activeinterest in the doings of gay Gotham. Local happenings naturallyhad first claim upon Massapequa's attention--the prowess of thelocal baseball team, Mrs. Robinson's tea party and the highlyexciting sessions of the local Pinochle Club furnishing food forunlimited gossip and scandal. The newspapers reached the village,of course, but only the local news items aroused any realinterest, while the women folk usually restricted their readingsto those pages devoted to Daily Hints for the Home, Mrs. Sayre'slearned articles on Health and Beauty and Fay Stanton's DailyFashions. It was not surprising, therefore, that the fame of JudgeRossmore and the scandal in which he was at present involved hadnot penetrated as far as Massapequa and that the natives wereconsiderably mystified as to who the new arrivals in their midstmight be.

  Stott had been given a room in the cottage so that he might benear at hand to work with the judge in the preparation of thedefence, and he came out from the city every evening. It was nowJune. The Senate would not take action until it convened inDecember, but there was a lot of work to be done and no time to belost.

  The evening following the day of their arrival they were sittingon the porch enjoying the cool evening air after dinner. The judgewas smoking. He was not a slave to the weed, but he enjoyed aquiet pipe after meals, claiming that it quieted his nerves andenabled him to think more clearly. Besides, it was necessary tokeep at bay the ubiquitous Long Island mosquito. Mrs. Rossmore hadremained for a moment in the dining-room to admonis
h Eudoxia,their new and only maid-of-all-work, not to wreck too much of thecrockery when she removed the dinner dishes. Suddenly Stott, whowas perusing an evening paper, asked:

  "By the way, where's your daughter? Does she know of this radicalchange in your affairs?"

  Judge Rossmore started. By what mysterious agency had this manpenetrated his own most intimate thoughts? He was himself thinkingof Shirley that very moment, and by some inexplicable means--telepathymodern psychologists called it--the thought current had crossed toStott, whose mind, being in full sympathy, was exactly attuned toreceive it. Removing the pipe from his mouth the judge replied:

  "Shirley's in Paris. Poor girl, I hadn't the heart to tell her.She has no idea of what's happened. I didn't want to spoil herholiday."

  He was silent for a moment. Then, after a few more puffs he addedconfidentially in a low tone, as if he did not care for his wifeto hear:

  "The truth is, Stott, I couldn't bear to have her return now. Icouldn't look my own daughter in the face."

  A sound as of a great sob which he had been unable to control cutshort his speech. His eyes filled with tears and he began to smokefuriously as if ashamed of this display of emotion. Stott, blowinghis nose with suspicious vigor, replied soothingly:

  "You mustn't talk like that. Everything will come out all right,of course. But I think you are wrong not to have told yourdaughter. Her place is here at your side. She ought to be toldeven if only in justice to her. If you don't tell her someone elsewill, or, what's worse, she'll hear of it through the newspapers."

  "Ah, I never thought of that!" exclaimed the judge, visiblyperturbed at the suggestion about the newspapers.

  "Don't you agree with me?" demanded Stott, appealing to Mrs.Rossmore, who emerged from the house at that instant. "Don't youthink your daughter should be informed of what has happened?"

  "Most assuredly I do," answered Mrs. Rossmore determinedly. "Thejudge wouldn't hear of it, but I took the law into my own hands.I've cabled for her."

  "You cabled for Shirley?" cried the judge incredulously. He was sounaccustomed to seeing his ailing, vacillating wife do anything onher own initiative and responsibility that it seemed impossible."You cabled for Shirley?" he repeated.

  "Yes," replied Mrs. Rossmore triumphantly and secretly pleasedthat for once in her life she had asserted herself. "I cabledyesterday. I simply couldn't bear it alone any longer."

  "What did you say?" inquired the judge apprehensively.

  "I just told her to come home at once. To-morrow; we ought to getan answer."

  Stott meantime had been figuring on the time of Shirley's probablearrival. If the cablegram had been received in Paris the previousevening it would be too late to catch the French boat. The NorthGerman Lloyd steamer was the next to leave and it touched atCherbourg. She would undoubtedly come on that. In a week at mostshe would be here. Then it became a question as to who should goto meet her at the dock. The judge could not go, that was certain.It would be too much of an ordeal. Mrs. Rossmore did not know thelower part of the city well, and had no experience in meetingocean steamships. There was only one way out--would Stott go? Ofcourse he would and he would bring Shirley back with him toMassapequa. So during the next few days while Stott and the judgetoiled preparing their case, which often necessitated brief tripsto the city, Mrs. Rossmore, seconded with sulky indifference byEudoxia, was kept busy getting a room ready for her daughter'sarrival.

  Eudoxia, who came originally from County Cork, was an Irish ladywith a thick brogue and a husky temper. She was amiable enough solong as things went to her satisfaction, but when they did notsuit her she was a termagant. She was neither beautiful norgraceful, she was not young nor was she very clean. Her usualcondition was dishevelled, her face was all askew, and when shedressed up she looked like a valentine. Her greatest weakness wasa propensity for smashing dishes, and when reprimanded she wouldthreaten to take her traps and skidoo. This news of the arrival ofa daughter failed to fill her with enthusiasm. Firstly, it meantmore work; secondly she had not bargained for it. When she tookthe place it was on the understanding that the family consistedonly of an elderly gentleman and his wife, that there waspractically no work, good wages, plenty to eat, with the privilegeof an evening out when she pleased. Instead of this millennium shesoon found Stott installed as a permanent guest and now a daughterwas to be foisted on her. No wonder hard working girls weregetting sick and tired of housework!

  As already hinted there was no unhealthy curiosity amongMassapequans regarding their new neighbors from the city but someof the more prominent people of the place considered it their dutyto seek at least a bowing acquaintance with the Rossmores bypaying them a formal visit. So the day following the conversationon the porch when the judge and Stott had gone to the city on oneof their periodical excursions, Mrs. Rossmore was startled to seea gentleman of clerical appearance accompanied by a tall, angularwoman enter their gate and ring the bell.

  The Rev. Percival Pontifex Deetle and his sister Miss Jane Deetleprided themselves on being leaders in the best social circle inMassapequa. The incumbent of the local Presbyterian church, theRev. Deetle, was a thin, sallow man of about thirty-five. He had adiminutive face with a rather long and very pointed nose whichgave a comical effect to his physiognomy. Theology was written allover his person and he wore the conventional clerical hat which,owing to his absurdly small face, had the unfortunate appearanceof being several sizes too large for him. Miss Deetle was a gauntand angular spinster who had an unhappy trick of talking with ajerk. She looked as if she were constantly under self-restraintand was liable at any moment to explode into a fit of rage andonly repressed herself with considerable effort. As they came upthe stoop, Eudoxia, already instructed by Mrs. Rossmore, was readyfor them. With her instinctive respect for the priestly garb shewas rather taken back on seeing a clergyman, but she brazened itout:

  "Mr. Rossmore's not home." Then shaking her head, she added: "Theydon't see no visitors."

  Unabashed, the Rev. Deetle drew a card from a case and handing itto the girl said pompously:

  "Then we will see Mrs. Rossmore. I saw her at the window as wecame along. Here, my girl, take her this card. Tell her that theReverend Pontifex Deetle and Miss Deetle have called to presenttheir compliments."

  Brushing past Eudoxia, who vainly tried to close the door, theRev. Deetle coolly entered the house, followed by his sister, andtook a seat in the parlour.

  "She'll blame me for this," wailed the girl, who had not budgedand who stood there fingering the Rev. Deetle's card.

  "Blame you? For what?" demanded the clerical visitor in surprise.

  "She told me to say she was out--but I can't lie to a minister ofthe Gospel--leastways not to his face. I'll give her your card,sir."

  The reverend caller waited until Eudoxia had disappeared, then herose and looked around curiously at the books and pictures.

  "Hum--not a Bible or a prayer book or a hymn book, not a pictureor anything that would indicate the slightest reverence for holythings."

  He picked up a few papers that were lying on the table and afterglancing at them threw them down in disgust.

  "Law reports--Wall Street reports--the god of this world.Evidently very ordinary people, Jane."

  He looked at his sister, but she sat stiffly and primly in herchair and made no reply. He repeated:

  "Didn't you hear me? I said they are ordinary people."

  "I've no doubt," retorted Miss Deetle, "and as such they will notthank us for prying into their affairs."

  "Prying, did you say?" said the parson, resenting this impliedcriticism of his actions.

  "Just plain prying," persisted his sister angrily. "I don't seewhat else it is."

  The Rev. Pontifex straightened up and threw out his chest as hereplied:

  "It is protecting my flock. As Leader of the Unified All SoulsBaptismal Presbytery, it is my duty to visit the widows andorphans of this community."

  "These people are neither widows or orphans," objected MissDeetle.r />
  "They are strangers," insisted the Rev. Pontifex, "and it is myduty to minister to them--if they need it. Furthermore it is myduty to my congregation to find out who is in their midst. No lessthan three of the Lady Trustees of my church have asked me who andwhat these people are and whence they came."

  "The Lady Trustees are a pack of old busybodies," growled hissister.

  Her brother raised his finger warningly.

  "Jane, do you know you are uttering a blasphemy? These Rossmorepeople have been here two weeks. They have visited no one, no onevisits them. They have avoided a temple of worship, they haveacted most mysteriously. Who are they? What are they hiding? Is itfair to my church, is it fair to my flock? It is not a bereavement,for they don't wear mourning. I'm afraid it may be some hiddenscandal--"

  Further speculations on his part were interrupted by the entranceof Mrs. Rossmore, who thought rightly that the quickest way to getrid of her unwelcome visitors was to hurry downstairs as quicklyas possible.

  "Miss Deetle--Mr. Deetle. I am much honoured," was her not tooeffusive greeting.

  The Reverend Pontifex, anxious to make a favourable impression,was all smiles and bows. The idea of a possible scandal had forthe moment ceased to worry him.

  "The honour is ours," he stammered. "I--er--we--er--my sister Janeand I called to--"

  "Won't you sit down?" said Mrs. Rossmore, waving him to a chair.He danced around her in a manner that made her nervous.

  "Thank you so much," he said with a smile that was meant to beamiable. He took a seat at the further end of the room and anawkward pause followed. Finally his sister prompted him:

  "You wanted to see Mrs. Rossmore about the festival," she said.

  "Oh, of course, I had quite forgotten. How stupid of me. The factis, Mrs. Rossmore," he went on, "we are thinking of giving afestival next week--a festival with strawberries--and our trusteesthought, in fact it occurred to me also that if you and Mr.Rossmore would grace the occasion with your presence it would giveus an opportunity--so to speak--get better acquainted, and er--"

  Another awkward pause followed during which he sought inspirationby gazing fixedly in the fireplace. Then turning on Mrs. Rossmoreso suddenly that the poor woman nearly jumped out of her chair heasked:

  "Do you like strawberries?"

  "It's very kind of you," interrupted Mrs. Rossmore, glad of theopportunity to get a word in edgeways. "Indeed, I appreciate yourkindness most keenly but my husband and I go nowhere, nowhere atall. You see we have met with reverses and--"

  "Reverses," echoed the clerical visitor, with difficulty keepinghis seat. This was the very thing he had come to find out and hereit was actually thrown at him. He congratulated himself on hiscleverness in having inspired so much confidence and thought withglee of his triumph when he returned with the full story to theLady Trustees. Simulating, therefore, the deepest sympathy hetried to draw his hostess out:

  "Dear me, how sad! You met with reverses."

  Turning to his sister, who was sitting in her corner like apetrified mummy, he added:

  "Jane, do you hear? How inexpressibly sad! They have met withreverses!"

  He paused, hoping that Mrs. Rossmore would go on to explain justwhat their reverses had been, but she was silent. As a gentle hinthe said softly:

  "Did I interrupt you, Madam?"

  "Not at all, I did not speak," she answered.

  Thus baffled, he turned the whites of his eyes up to the ceilingand said:

  "When reverses come we naturally look for spiritual consolation.My dear Mrs. Rossmore, in the name of the Unified All SoulsBaptismal Presbytery I offer you that consolation."

  Mrs. Rossmore looked helplessly from one to the other embarrassedas to what to say. Who were these strangers that intruded on herprivacy offering a consolation she did not want? Miss Deetle, asif glad of the opportunity to joke at her brother's expense, saidexplosively:

  "My dear Pontifex, you have already offered a strawberry festivalwhich Mrs. Rossmore has been unable to accept."

  "Well, what of it?" demanded Mr. Deetle, glaring at his sister forthe irrelevant interruption.

  "You are both most kind," murmured Mrs. Rossmore; "but we couldnot accept in any case. My daughter is returning home from Parisnext week."

  "Ah, your daughter--you have a daughter?" exclaimed Mr. Deetle,grasping at the slightest straw to add to his stock of information."Coming from Paris, too! Such a wicked city!"

  He had never been to Paris, he went on to explain, but he had readenough about it and he was grateful that the Lord had chosenMassapequa as the field of his labours. Here at least, life wassweet and wholesome and one's hopes of future salvation fairlyreasonable. He was not a brilliant talker when the conversationextended beyond Massapequa but he rambled on airing his views onthe viciousness of the foreigner in general, until Mrs. Rossmore,utterly wearied, began to wonder when they would go. Finally hefell back upon the weather.

  "We are very fortunate in having such pleasant weather, don't youthink so, Madam? Oh, Massapequa is a lovely spot, isn't it? Wethink it's the one place to live in. We are all one happy family.That's why my sister and I called to make your acquaintance."

  "You are very good, I'm sure. I shall tell my husband you came andhe'll be very pleased."

  Having exhausted his conversational powers and seeing that furtherefforts to pump Mrs. Rossmore were useless, the clerical visitorrose to depart:

  "It looks like rain. Come, Jane, we had better go. Good-bye,Madam, I am delighted to have made this little visit and I trustyou will assure Mr. Rossmore that All Souls Unified BaptismalPresbytery always has a warm welcome for him."

  They bowed and Mrs. Rossmore bowed. The agony was over and as thedoor closed on them Mrs. Rossmore gave a sigh of relief.

  That evening Stott and the judge came home earlier than usual andfrom their dejected appearance Mrs. Rossmore divined bad news. Thejudge was painfully silent throughout the meal and Stott wasunusually grave. Finally the latter took her aside and broke it toher gently. In spite of their efforts and the efforts of theirfriends the Congressional inquiry had resulted in a findingagainst the judge and a demand had already been made upon theSenate for his impeachment. They could do nothing now but fight itin the Senate with all the influence they could muster. It wasgoing to be hard but Stott was confident that right would prevail.After dinner as they were sitting in silence on the porch, eachmeasuring the force of this blow which they had expected yet hadalways hoped to ward off, the crunching sound of a bicycle washeard on the quiet country road. The rider stopped at their gateand came up the porch holding out an envelope to the judge, who,guessing the contents, had started forward. He tore it open. Itwas a cablegram from Paris and read as follows:

  _Am sailing on the Kaiser Wilhelm to-day._

  _Shirley._