ad finished he lighted a
long black cigar from a box that had been sent him by a world famous
confidence man. He smoked thoughtfully for some time. Then he put out a
heavy hand and, without looking, pressed a white button at the side of
his desk.

A sharp-eyed young man opened the captain's door.

"Nick," said the captain, "shut that door a minute and come over here."
He pointed to the black newspaper headline.

"Get that?" he demanded.

"Sure, first thing this morning, Captain."

"Well?"

"We should worry."

Captain Shammer rolled his cigar in his mouth. He wasn't exactly
satisfied with the answer.

"All right," he agreed finally, "but Nick--"

"Yes, Captain." Nick paused alertly, one hand on the door knob.

"Easy for a while until we see how things break on this."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Curtains drawn, you know, and back rooms quiet. Tell the girls to go
slow on the piano playing. Did Ike, the dip, come across?"

"Not yet, Captain."

"Pinch him today and give him the cooler. Get me?"

"It's done, cap."

"Close in on the stuss games. Pass the word to go easy."

"I get you."

"Mary Randall, eh?" asked Captain Shammer of vacancy when his aid had
gone. "Mary Randall! Well, Mary, you sure have got your nerve with you."

Senator Barker was a member of the Governor's vice investigating
committee. The committee had been appointed to frame a minimum wage law
for women. He was a person of ponderous bulk and mental equipment. He had
slipped into office, not because the people yearned for him, but because
there had happened to be a battle on between two factions of his natural
political opponents in the fortunate hour he had selected for aspiring to
office. Like most other American officeholders he spent his days and
nights scheming out ways to continue living at the public's expense. He
perused Mary Randall's screed as he sat over his morning grape-fruit.

In an intermission in the committee meeting Senator Barker leaned across
the heavy oak table and pointed out the letter to the Rev. Wallace
Stillwell.

"Did you see that?" he inquired huskily.

Mr. Stillwell nodded and drew his thin lips together. He was quite young
and just now carried the burden of having been called from an obscure
country pulpit to a fashionable church in Chicago. He knew that the
wealthy man who was his sponsor in this new position was interested in
whole blocks of houses whose curtains were always drawn. He had never
forgotten