The Lion and the Mouse; a Story of an American Life

by Charles Klein and Arthur Hornblow

  CHAPTER VI.

  A month had passed since the memorable meeting of the directors of theSouthern and Transcontinental Railroad in New York and during that timeneither John Burkett Ryder nor Judge Rossmore had been idle. The formerhad immediately set in motion the machinery he controlled in theLegislature at Washington, while the judge neglected no step tovindicate himself before the public.

  Ryder, for reasons of his own--probably because he wished to make theblow the more crushing when it did fall--had insisted on theproceedings at the board meeting being kept a profound secret and sometime elapsed before the newspapers got wind of the coming Congressionalinquiry. No one had believed the stories about Judge Rossmore but nowthat a quasi-official seal had been set on the current gossip, therewas a howl of virtuous indignation from the journalistic muck rakers.What was the country coming to? they cried in double leaded type. Afterthe embezzling by life insurance officers, the rascality of therailroads, the looting of city treasuries, the greed of the Trusts, thegrafting of the legislators, had arisen a new and more seriousscandal--the corruption of the Judiciary. The last bulwark of thenation had fallen, the country lay helpless at the mercy of legalizedsandbaggers. Even the judges were no longer to be trusted, the mostrespected one among them all had been unable to resist the tempter. TheSupreme Court, the living voice of the Constitution, was honeycombedwith graft. Public life was rotten to the core!

  Neither the newspapers nor the public stopped to ascertain the truth orthe falsity of the charges against Judge Rossmore. It was sufficientthat the bribery story furnished the daily sensation which newspapereditors and newspaper readers must have. The world is ever more promptto believe ill rather than good of a man, and no one, except inRossmore's immediate circle of friends, entertained the slightest doubtof his guilt. It was common knowledge that the "big interests" werebehind the proceedings, and that Judge Rossmore was a scapegoat,sacrificed by the System because he had been blocking their game. IfRossmore had really accepted the bribe, and few now believed himspotless, he deserved all that was coming to him. Senator Roberts wasvery active in Washington preparing the case against Judge Rossmore.The latter being a democrat and "the interests" controlling aRepublican majority in the House, it was a foregone conclusion that theinquiry would be against him, and that a demand would at once be madeupon the Senate for his impeachment.

  Almost prostrated by the misfortune which had so suddenly andunexpectedly come upon him, Judge Rossmore was like a man demented. Hisreason seemed to be tottering, he spoke and acted like a man in adream. Naturally he was entirely incapacitated for work and he hadapplied to Washington to be temporarily relieved from his judicialduties. He was instantly granted a leave of absence and went at once tohis home in Madison Avenue, where he shut himself up in his library,sitting for hours at his desk wrestling with documents and legal tomesin a pathetic endeavour to find some way out, trying to elude this netin which unseen hands had entangled him.

  What an end to his career! To have struggled and achieved for half acentury, to have built up a reputation year by year, as a man builds ahouse brick by brick, only to see the whole crumble to his feet likedust! To have gained the respect of the country, to have made a name asthe most incorruptible of public servants and now to be branded as acommon bribe taker! Could he be dreaming? It was too incredible! Whatwould his daughter say--his Shirley? Ah, the thought of the expressionof incredulity and wonder on her face when she heard the news cut himto the heart like a knife thrust. Yet, he mused, her very unwillingnessto believe it should really be his consolation. Ah, his wife and hischild--they knew he had been innocent of wrong doing. The very idea wasridiculous. At most he had been careless. Yes, he was certainly toblame. He ought to have seen the trap so carefully prepared and intowhich he had walked as if blindfolded. That extra $50,000 worth ofstock, on which he had never received a cent interest, had been thedecoy in a carefully thought out plot. They, the plotters, well knewhow ignorant he was of financial matters and he had been an easyvictim. Who would believe his story that the stock had been sent to himwith a plausibly-worded letter to the effect that it represented abonus on his own investment? Now he came to think of it, calmly andreasonably, he would not believe it himself. As usual, he had mislaidor destroyed the secretary's letter and there was only his word againstthe company's books to substantiate what would appear a most improbableif 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 he reallytaken the stock as a bribe he would not care so much, for then he wouldhave foreseen and discounted the chances of exposure. Yes, there was nodoubt possible. He was the victim of a conspiracy, there was anorganized plot to ruin him, to get him out of the way. The "interests"feared him, resented his judicial decisions and they had halted atnothing to accomplish their purpose. How could he fight them back, whatcould he do to protect himself? He had no proofs of a conspiracy, hisenemies worked in the dark, there was no way in which he could reachthem or know who they were.

  He thought of John Burkett Ryder. Ah, he remembered now. Ryder was theman who had recommended the investment in Alaskan stock. Of course, whydid he not think of it before? He recollected that at the time he hadbeen puzzled at receiving so much stock and he had mentioned it toRyder, adding that the secretary had told him it was customary. Oh, whyhad he not kept the secretary's letter? But Ryder would certainlyremember it. He probably still had his two letters in which he spoke ofmaking the investment. If those letters could be produced at theCongressional inquiry they would clear him at once. So losing no time,and filled with renewed hope he wrote to the Colossus a strong, manlyletter which would have melted an iceberg, urging Mr. Ryder to comeforward now at this critical time and clear him of this abominablecharge, or in any case to kindly return the two letters he must have inhis possession, as they would go far to help him at the trial. Threedays passed and no reply from Ryder. On the fourth came a polite butfrigid note from Mr. Ryder's private secretary. Mr. Ryder had receivedJudge Rossmore's letter and in reply begged to state that he had avague recollection of some conversation with the judge in regard toinvestments, but he did not think he had advised the purchase of anyparticular stock, as that was something he never did on principle, evenwith his most intimate friends. He had no wish to be held accountablein case of loss, etc. As to the letter which Judge Rossmore mentionedas having written to Mr. Ryder in regard to having received more stockthan he had bought, of that Mr. Ryder had no recollection whatsoever.Judge Rossmore was probably mistaken as to the identity of hiscorrespondent. He regretted he could not be of more service to JudgeRossmore, and remained his very obedient servant.

  It was very evident that no help was to be looked for in that quarter.There was even decided hostility in Ryder's reply. Could it be truethat the financier was really behind these attacks upon his character,was it possible that one man merely to make more money woulddeliberately ruin his fellow man whose hand he had grasped infriendship? He had been unwilling to believe it when his friendex-judge Stott had pointed to Ryder as the author of all hismisfortunes, but this unsympathetic letter with its falsehoods, itslies plainly written all over its face, was proof enough. Yes, therewas now no doubt possible. John Burkett Ryder was his enemy and what anenemy! Many a man had committed suicide when he had incurred the enmityof the Colossus. Judge Rossmore, completely discouraged, bowed his headto the inevitable.

  His wife, a nervous, sickly woman, was helpless to comfort or aid him.She had taken their misfortune as a visitation of an inscrutable Deity.She knew, of course, that her husband was wholly innocent of theaccusations brought against him and if his character could be clearedand himself rehabilitated before the world, she would be the first torejoice. But if it pleased the Almighty in His wisdom to sorely try herhusband and herself and inflict this punishment upon them it was notfor the finite mind to criticise the ways of Providence. There wasprobably some good reason for the apparent cruelty and injustice of itwhich their
earthly understanding failed to grasp. Mrs. Rossmore foundmuch comfort in this philosophy, which gave a satisfactory ending toboth ends of the problem, and she was upheld in her view by the rectorof the church which she had attended regularly each Sunday for the pastfive and twenty years. Christian resignation in the hour of trial,submission to the will of Heaven were, declared her spiritual adviser,the fundamental principles of religion. He could only hope that Mrs.Rossmore would succeed in imbuing her husband with her Christianspirit. But when the judge's wife returned home and saw the keen mentaldistress of the man who had been her companion for twenty-five longyears, the comforter in her sorrows, the joy and pride of her youngwifehood, she forgot all about her smug churchly consoler, and herheart went out to her husband in a spontaneous burst of genuine humansympathy. Yes, they must do something at once. Where men had failedperhaps a woman could do something. She wanted to cable at once forShirley, 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. Hewould not spoil it for her. They would see; perhaps things wouldimprove. But he sent for his old friend ex-Judge Stott.

  They were life-long friends, having become acquainted nearly thirtyyears ago at the law school, at the time when both were young men aboutto enter on a public career. Stott, who was Rossmore's junior, hadbegun as a lawyer in New York and soon acquired a reputation incriminal practice. He afterwards became assistant district attorney andlater, when a vacancy occurred in the city magistrature, he wassuccessful in securing the appointment. On the bench he again met hisold friend Rossmore and the two men once more became closely intimate.The regular court hours, however, soon palled on a man of Judge Stott'snervous temperament and it was not long before he retired to take uponce more his criminal practice. He was still a young man, not yetfifty, and full of vigor and fight. He had a blunt manner but his heartwas in the right place, and he had a record as clean as his closeshaven face. He was a hard worker, a brilliant speaker and one of thecleverest cross-examiners at the bar. This was the man to whom JudgeRossmore naturally turned for legal assistance.

  Stott was out West when he first heard of the proceedings against hisold friend, and this indignity put upon the only really honest man inpublic life whom he knew, so incensed him that he was already hurryingback 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 this manwho had dared defy the power of organized capital. Hardly had the newsof the Congressional inquiry been made public, than the financial worldwas startled by an extraordinary slump in Wall Street. There wasnothing in the news of the day to justify a decline, but prices felland fell. The bears had it all their own way, the big interestshammered stocks all along the line, "coppers" especially being theobject of attack. The market closed feverishly and the next day thesame tactics were pursued. From the opening, on selling orders comingfrom no one knew where, prices fell to nothing, a stampede followed andbefore long it became a panic. Pandemonium reigned on the floor of theStock Exchange. 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 falling market,rallied and by rush orders to buy, attempted to stem the tide, but allto no purpose. One firm after another went by the board unable toweather the tempest, until just before closing time, the stock tickerannounced the failure of the Great Northwestern Mining Co. The drive inthe market had been principally directed against its securities, andafter vainly endeavoring to check the bear raid, it had been compelledto declare itself bankrupt. It was heavily involved, assets nil, stockalmost worthless. It was probable that the creditors would not see tencents on the dollar. Thousands were ruined and Judge Rossmore amongthem. All the savings of a lifetime--nearly $55,000 were gone. He waspractically penniless, at a time when he needed money most. He stillowned his house in Madison Avenue, but that would have to go to settlewith his creditors. By the time everything was paid there would onlyremain enough for a modest competence. As to his salary, of course hecould not touch that so long as this accusation was hanging over hishead. And if he were impeached it would stop altogether. The salary,therefore, was not to be counted on. They must manage as best theycould and live more cheaply, taking a small house somewhere in theoutskirts of the city where he could prepare his case quietly withoutattracting attention.

  Stott thought this was the best thing they could do and he volunteeredto relieve his friend by taking on his own hands all the arrangementsof the sale of the house and furniture, which offer the judge acceptedonly too gladly. Meantime, Mrs. Rossmore went to Long Island to seewhat could be had, and she found at the little village of Massapequajust what they were looking for--a commodious, neatly-furnishedtwo-story cottage at a modest rental. Of course, it was nothing likewhat they had been accustomed to, but it was clean and comfortable, andas Mrs. Rossmore said, rather tactlessly, beggars cannot be choosers.Perhaps it would not be for long. Instant possession was to be had, sodeposit was paid on the spot and a few days later the Rossmores lefttheir mansion on Madison Avenue and took up their residence inMassapequa, where their advent created quite a fluster in local socialcircles.

  Massapequa is one of the thousand and one flourishing communitiesscattered over Long Island, all of which are apparently modelled afterthe same pattern. Each is an exact duplicate of its neighbour ineverything except the name--the same untidy railroad station, the samesleepy stores, the same attractive little frame residences, built forthe most part on the "Why pay Rent? Own your own Home" plan. A healthyboom in real estate imparts plenty of life to them all and Massapequais particularly famed as being the place where the cat jumped to whenManhattan had to seek an outlet for its congested population andever-increasing army of home seekers. Formerly large tracts of flatfarm lands, only sparsely shaded by trees, Massapequa, in common withother villages of its kind, was utterly destitute of any naturalattractions. There was the one principal street leading to the station,with a few scattered 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 number ofattractive cottages with spacious porches hung with honeysuckle and ofthese the Rossmores occupied one of the less pretentious kind.

  But although Massapequa, theoretically speaking, was situated only astone's throw from the metropolis, it might have been situated in theGreat Sahara so far as its inhabitants took any active interest in thedoings of gay Gotham. Local happenings naturally had first claim uponMassapequa's attention--the prowess of the local baseball team, Mrs.Robinson's tea party and the highly exciting sessions of the localPinochle Club furnishing food for unlimited gossip and scandal. Thenewspapers reached the village, of course, but only the local newsitems aroused any real interest, while the women folk usuallyrestricted their readings to those pages devoted to Daily Hints for theHome, Mrs. Sayre's learned articles on Health and Beauty and FayStanton's Daily Fashions. It was not surprising, therefore, that thefame of Judge Rossmore and the scandal in which he was at presentinvolved had not penetrated as far as Massapequa and that the nativeswere considerably mystified as to who the new arrivals in their midstmight be.

  Stott had been given a room in the cottage so that he might be near athand to work with the judge in the preparation of the defence, and hecame out from the city every evening. It was now June. The Senate wouldnot take action until it convened in December, but there was a lot ofwork to be done and no time to be lost.

  The evening following the day of their arrival they were sitting on theporch enjoying the cool evening air after dinner. The judge wassmoking. He was not a slave to the weed, but he enjoyed a quiet pipeafter meals, claiming that it quieted his nerves and enabled him tothink more clearly. Besides, it was necessary to keep at bay theubiquitous Long Island mosquito. Mrs. Rossmore had remained for amoment in the din
ing-room to admonish Eudoxia, their new and onlymaid-of-all-work, not to wreck too much of the crockery when sheremoved the dinner dishes. Suddenly Stott, who was perusing an eveningpaper, 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 thinking ofShirley 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 hasno idea of what's happened. I didn't want to spoil her holiday."

  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 wife tohear:

  "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 cut shorthis speech. His eyes filled with tears and he began to smoke furiouslyas if ashamed of this display of emotion. Stott, blowing his nose withsuspicious vigor, replied soothingly:

  "You mustn't talk like that. Everything will come out all right, ofcourse. But I think you are wrong not to have told your daughter. Herplace is here at your side. She ought to be told even if only injustice to her. If you don't tell her someone else will, or, what'sworse, she'll hear of it through the newspapers."

  "Ah, I never thought of that!" exclaimed the judge, visibly perturbedat 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 you think yourdaughter should be informed of what has happened?"

  "Most assuredly I do," answered Mrs. Rossmore determinedly. "The judgewouldn't hear of it, but I took the law into my own hands. I've cabledfor her."

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

  "Yes," replied Mrs. Rossmore triumphantly and secretly pleased that foronce in her life she had asserted herself. "I cabled yesterday. Isimply 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 get ananswer."

  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 North GermanLloyd steamer was the next to leave and it touched at Cherbourg. Shewould undoubtedly come on that. In a week at most she would be here.Then it became a question as to who should go to meet her at the dock.The judge could not go, that was certain. It would be too much of anordeal. Mrs. Rossmore did not know the lower part of the city well, andhad no experience in meeting ocean steamships. There was only one wayout--would Stott go? Of course he would and he would bring Shirley backwith him to Massapequa. So during the next few days while Stott and thejudge toiled 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's arrival.Eudoxia, who came originally from County Cork, was an Irish lady with athick brogue and a husky temper. She was amiable enough so long asthings went to her satisfaction, but when they did not suit her she wasa termagant. She was neither beautiful nor graceful, she was not youngnor was she very clean. Her usual condition was dishevelled, her facewas all askew, and when she dressed up she looked like a valentine. Hergreatest weakness was a propensity for smashing dishes, and whenreprimanded she would threaten to take her traps and skidoo. This newsof the arrival of a daughter failed to fill her with enthusiasm.Firstly, it meant more work; secondly she had not bargained for it.When she took the place it was on the understanding that the familyconsisted only of an elderly gentleman and his wife, that there waspractically no work, good wages, plenty to eat, with the privilege ofan evening out when she pleased. Instead of this millennium she soonfound Stott installed as a permanent guest and now a daughter was to befoisted on her. No wonder hard working girls were getting sick andtired of housework!

  As already hinted there was no unhealthy curiosity among Massapequansregarding their new neighbors from the city but some of the moreprominent people of the place considered it their duty to seek at leasta bowing acquaintance with the Rossmores by paying them a formal visit.So the day following the conversation on the porch when the judge andStott had gone to the city on one of their periodical excursions, Mrs.Rossmore was startled to see a gentleman of clerical appearanceaccompanied by a tall, angular woman enter their gate and ring the bell.

  The Rev. Percival Pontifex Beetle and his sister Miss Jane Beetleprided themselves on being leaders in the best social circle inMassapequa. The incumbent of the local Presbyterian church, the Rev.Deetle, was a thin, sallow man of about thirty-five. He had adiminutive face with a rather long and very pointed nose which gave acomical effect to his physiognomy. Theology was written all over hisperson and he wore the conventional clerical hat which, owing to hisabsurdly small face, had the unfortunate appearance of being severalsizes too large for him. Miss Deetle was a gaunt and angular spinsterwho had an unhappy trick of talking with a jerk. She looked as if shewere constantly under self-restraint and was liable at any moment toexplode into a fit of rage and only repressed herself with considerableeffort. As they came up the stoop, Eudoxia, already instructed by Mrs.Rossmore, was ready for them. With her instinctive respect for thepriestly garb she was rather taken back on seeing a clergyman, but shebrazened it out:

  "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 it tothe girl said pompously:

  "Then we will see Mrs. Rossmore. I saw her at the window as we camealong. Here, my girl, take her this card. Tell her that the ReverendPontifex Deetle and Miss Deetle have called to present theircompliments."

  Brushing past Eudoxia, who vainly tried to close the door, the Rev.Deetle coolly entered the house, followed by his sister, and took aseat in the parlour.

  "She'll blame me for this," wailed the girl, who had not budged and whostood 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 of theGospel--leastways not to his face. I'll give her your card, sir."

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

  "Hum--not a Bible or a prayer book or a hymn book, not a picture oranything that would indicate the slightest reverence for holy things."

  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. Evidentlyvery ordinary people, Jane."

  He looked at his sister, but she sat stiffly and primly in her chairand 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 not thankus 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 see whatelse it is."

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

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

  "These people are neither widows or orphans," objected Miss D
eetle.

  "They are strangers," insisted the Rev. Pontifex, "and it is my duty tominister to them--if they need it. Furthermore it is my duty to mycongregation to find out who is in their midst. No less than three ofthe Lady Trustees of my church have asked me who and what these peopleare and whence they came."

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

  Her brother raised his finger warningly.

  "Jane, do you know you are uttering a blasphemy? These Rossmore peoplehave been here two weeks They have visited no one, no one visits them.They have avoided a temple of worship, they have acted mostmysteriously. Who are they? What are they hiding? Is it fair to mychurch, is it fair to my flock? It is not a bereavement, for they don'twear mourning. I'm afraid it may be some hidden scandal--"

  Further speculations on his part were interrupted by the entrance ofMrs. Rossmore, who thought rightly that the quickest way to get rid ofher unwelcome visitors was to hurry downstairs as quickly as possible.

  "Miss Deetle--Mr. Deetle. I am much honoured," was her not too effusivegreeting.

  The Reverend Pontifex, anxious to make a favourable impression, was allsmiles and bows. The idea of a possible scandal had for the momentceased to worry him.

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

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

  "Thank you so much," he said with a smile that was meant to be amiable.He took a seat at the further end of the room and an awkward pausefollowed. 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 fact is,Mrs. Rossmore," he went on, "we are thinking of giving a festival nextweek--a festival with strawberries--and our trustees thought, in factit occurred to me also that if you and Mr. Rossmore would grace theoccasion with your presence it would give us an opportunity--so tospeak--get better acquainted, and er--"

  Another awkward pause followed during which he sought inspiration bygazing fixedly in the fireplace. Then turning on Mrs. Rossmore sosuddenly that the poor woman nearly jumped out of her chair he asked:

  "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 at all.You see we have met with reverses and--"

  "Reverses," echoed the clerical visitor, with difficulty keeping hisseat. This was the very thing he had come to find out and here it wasactually thrown at him. He congratulated himself on his cleverness inhaving inspired so much confidence and thought with glee of his triumphwhen he returned with the full story to the Lady Trustees. Simulating,therefore, the deepest sympathy he tried to draw his hostess out:

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

  Turning to his sister, who was sitting in her corner like a petrifiedmummy, he added:

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

  He paused, hoping that Mrs. Rossmore would go on to explain just whattheir reverses had been, but she was silent. As a gentle hint he saidsoftly:

  "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 ceiling andsaid:

  "When reverses come we naturally look for spiritual consolation. Mydear Mrs. Rossmore, in the name of the Unified All Souls BaptismalPresbytery I offer you that consolation."

  Mrs. Rossmore looked helplessly from one to the other embarrassed as towhat to say. Who were these strangers that intruded on her privacyoffering a consolation she did not want? Miss Deetle, as if glad of theopportunity to joke at her brother's expense, said explosively:

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

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

  "You are both most kind," murmured Mrs. Rossmore; "but we could notaccept in any case. My daughter is returning home from Paris next 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 chosen Massapequaas the field of his labours. Here at least, life was sweet andwholesome and one's hopes of future salvation fairly reasonable. He wasnot a brilliant talker when the conversation extended beyond Massapequabut he rambled on airing his views on the viciousness of the foreignerin general, until Mrs. Rossmore, utterly wearied, began to wonder whenthey would go. Finally he fell back upon the weather.

  "We are very fortunate in having such pleasant weather, don't you thinkso, Madam? Oh, Massapequa is a lovely spot, isn't it? We think it's theone place to live in. We are all one happy family. That's why my sisterand 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 visitor roseto depart:

  "It looks like rain. Come, Jane, we had better go. Good-bye, Madam, Iam delighted to have made this little visit and I trust you will assureMr. Rossmore that All Souls Unified Baptismal Presbytery always has awarm welcome for him."

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

  That evening Stott and the judge came home earlier than usual and fromtheir dejected appearance Mrs. Rossmore divined bad news. The judge waspainfully silent throughout the meal and Stott was unusually grave.Finally the latter took her aside and broke it to her gently. In spiteof their efforts and the efforts of their friends the Congressionalinquiry had resulted in a finding against the judge and a demand hadalready been made upon the Senate for his impeachment. They could donothing now but fight it in the Senate with all the influence theycould muster. It was going to be hard but Stott was confident thatright would prevail. After dinner as they were sitting in silence onthe porch, each measuring the force of this blow which they hadexpected yet had always hoped to ward off, the crunching sound of abicycle was heard on the quiet country road. The rider stopped at theirgate and came up the porch holding out an envelope to the judge, who,guessing the contents, had started forward. He tore it open. It was acablegram from Paris and read as follows:

  Am sailing on the Kaiser Wilhelm to-day.

  Shirley.