r twice during its progress he saw Agnes driving with the
unknown; and the fact that in both instances a handsome young lady was
with them did not seem to mend matters much. He was astonished to find
that losing the great polo match did not distress him at all. A year
before it would have broken his heart, but the multiplicity of new
interests had changed him entirely. As a matter of fact, he had been
long ripe for the change, though he had not known it. As he had
matured, the blood of his heredity had begun to clamor for its
expression; that was all.

At the beginning of the next week Mr. Trimmer came in to see him
again, with a roll of drawings under his arm. The drawings displayed
the proposed new bridge in elevation and in cross section. They showed
the total stretch of altered store-rooms from street to street, and
cleverly-drawn perspectives made graphically real that splendid
length. They were accompanied by an estimate of the cost, and also by
a permit from the city to build the bridge. With these were the
preliminary papers for the organization of the new company, and Bobby,
by this time intensely interested and convinced that his interest was
business acumen, went over each detail with contracted brow and with
kindling enthusiasm.

It was ten o'clock of that morning when Silas Trimmer had found Bobby
at his desk; by eleven Mr. Johnson and Mr. Applerod, in the outer
office, were quite unable to work; by twelve they were snarling at
each other; at twelve-thirty Johnson ventured to poke his head in at
the door, framing some trivial excuse as he did so, but found the two
merchants with their heads bent closely over the advantages of the
great combined stores. At a quarter-past one, returning from a hasty
lunch, Johnson tiptoed to the door again. He still heard an insistent,
high-pitched voice inside. Mr. Trimmer was doing all the talking. He
had explained and explained until his tongue was dry, and Bobby, with
a full sense of the importance of his decision, was trying to clear
away the fog that had grown up in his brain. Mr. Trimmer was pressing
him for a decision. Bobby suddenly slipped his hand in his pocket,
and, unseen, secured a half-dollar, which he shook in his hand under
the table. Opening his palm he furtively looked at the coin. Heads!

"Get your papers ready, Mr. Trimmer," he announced, as one finally
satisfied by good and sufficient argument, "we'll form the
organization as soon as you like."

No