g the Union Jack
alongside of the Stars and Stripes.

Mr. Penzance it was who suggested that he should try the strength of the
leg now.

"Yes," Mount Dunstan said. "Let me help you."

As he rose to go to him, Westholt good-naturedly got up also. They took
their places at either side of his invalid chair and assisted him to
rise and stand on his feet.

"It's all right, gentlemen. It's all right," he called out with a
delighted flush, when he found himself upright. "I believe I could stand
alone. Thank you. Thank you."

He was able, leaning on Mount Dunstan's arm, to take a few steps.
Evidently, in a short time, he would find himself no longer disabled.

Mr. Penzance had invited him to spend a week at the vicarage. He was to
do this as soon as he could comfortably drive from the one place to the
other. After receiving the invitation he had sent secretly to London for
one of the Delkoffs he had brought with him from America as a specimen.
He cherished in private a plan of gently entertaining his host by
teaching him to use the machine. The vicar would thus be prepared for
that future in which surely a Delkoff must in some way fall into his
hands. Indeed, Fortune having at length cast an eye on himself, might
chance to favour him further, and in time he might be able to send a
"high-class machine" as a grateful gift to the vicarage. Perhaps Mr.
Penzance would accept it because he would understand what it meant of
feeling and appreciation.

During the afternoon Lord Dunholm managed to talk a good deal with
Mount Dunstan. There was no air of intention in his manner, nevertheless
intention was concealed beneath its courteous amiability. He wanted
to get at the man. Before they parted he felt he had, perhaps, learned
things opening up new points of view.

. . . . .

In the smoking-room at Dunholm that night he and his son talked of their
chance encounter. It seemed possible that mistakes had been made about
Mount Dunstan. One did not form a definite idea of a man's character
in the course of an afternoon, but he himself had been impressed by a
conviction that there had been mistakes.

"We are rather a stiff-necked lot--in the country--when we allow
ourselves to be taken possession of by an idea," Westholt commented.

"I am not at all proud of the way in which we have taken things
for granted," was his father's summing up. "It is, perhaps, worth
observing," taking his cigar from his mouth and smiling at the end of