id Societies
go into the back yard and fight over the catch. The real show, he says,
is in the spring. The ministers all take a hand then, and there aren't
any summer boarders around."

"I see," said Cheyne, with the brilliant and perfect comprehension of
one born into and bred up to city pride. "We'll stay over for Memorial
Day, and get off in the afternoon."

"Guess I'll go down to Disko's and make him bring his crowd up before
they sail. I'll have to stand with them, of course."

"Oh, that's it, is it," said Cheyne. "I'm only a poor summer boarder,
and you're--"

"A Banker--full-blooded Banker," Harvey called back as he boarded a
trolley, and Cheyne went on with his blissful dreams for the future.

Disko had no use for public functions where appeals were made for
charity, but Harvey pleaded that the glory of the day would be lost, so
far as he was concerned, if the _We're Heres_ absented themselves. Then
Disko made conditions. He had heard--it was astonishing how all the
world knew all the world's business along the water-front--he had heard
that a "Philadelphia actress-woman" was going to take part in the
exercises; and he mistrusted that she would deliver "Skipper Ireson's
Ride." Personally, he had as little use for actresses as for summer
boarders; but justice was justice, and though he himself (here Dan
giggled) had once slipped up on a matter of judgment, this thing must
not be. So Harvey came back to East Gloucester, and spent half a day
explaining to an amused actress with a royal reputation on two
seaboards the inwardness of the mistake she contemplated; and she
admitted that it was justice, even as Disko had said.

Cheyne knew by old experience what would happen; but anything of the
nature of a public palaver was meat and drink to the man's soul. He saw
the trolleys hurrying west, in the hot, hazy morning, full of women in
light summer dresses, and white-faced straw-hatted men fresh from
Boston desks; the stack of bicycles outside the post office; the
come-and-go of busy officials, greeting one another; the slow flick and
swash of bunting in the heavy air; and the important man with a hose
sluicing the brick sidewalk.

"Mother," he said suddenly, "don't you remember--after Seattle was
burned out--and they got her going again?"

Mrs. Cheyne nodded, and looked critically down the crooked street. Like
her husband, she understood these gatherings, all the West over, and
compared them one against anothe