e knew so well. He groped awkwardly for words while he stared again
at the bit of silk in his hand, before his searching fingers found the
thick, crisp packet that had lain with it in his pocket.

"The Pilgrim's share of the receipts amounted to $12,000," had been
the tale of Morehouse's succinct last paragraph.

Then, "It--took me almost two months to save fifteen dollars," Young
Denny explained in painful self-consciousness.

She understood. She remembered the scarlet blouse and shimmering skirt
with its dots of tinsel, and the stockings and slim-heeled slippers.
Her fingers touched his chin--the barest ghost of a caressing
contact.

"Denny--Denny," she murmured, "I told you that night that you didn't
understand. And yet--and yet I'm glad that you couldn't. It was for
me--you went. Don't you--didn't you know it was--just because of
you--that I wanted them--at--all?"

* * * * *

The circle in the Boltonwood tavern convened early that night, and
long after hope had all but died a death of stagnation the regulars
stuck stubbornly to their places about the cheerlessly cold,
fat-bellied stove.

It was a session extraordinary, for even Dave Shepard, the patriarch
of the circle itself, could not recall an occasion when they had
foregathered there in such fashion so long after the last spring snow
had surrendered to summer. Yet it was largely mild-voiced Dave's
doing--this silent, sober gathering.

For he alone of all of them had heeded Old Jerry's parting admonition
that night, weeks before, when the servant of the Gov'mint had turned
from his shrill defiance of the Judge to whip their whole ranks with
scorn. Since then Dave had been following the papers with faithful and
painstaking care--not merely the political news of the day which
invariably furnished the key for each night's debate--but searching
every inch of type, down to the last inconsequential advertisement.
And he had been rewarded; he had penetrated, with the aid of that
small picture inset at the column-head, the disguise of the colorful
sobriquet which Morehouse had fastened upon Young Denny Bolton. More
than that, he had been reading for weeks each step in that campaign of
publicity which had so harrowed Old Jerry's peace of mind--and somehow
he had kept it religiously to himself.

Not until two days before, when Old Jerry's desertion from duty had
become a town-wide sensation had he opened his mouth. The r