egarded Mr. Crewe with a frank stare.

"I'm going up to the Pingsquit Valley on Friday," he answered.

"Then you'd better come up to Leith to see me as soon as you get back,"
said Mr. Crewe. "These things can't wait, and have to be dealt with
practically."

Young Tom had not been the virtual head of the Gaylord Company for some
years without gaining a little knowledge of politics and humanity. The
invitation to Leith he valued, of course, but he felt that it would not
do to accept it with too much ardour. He was, he said, a very busy man.

"That's the trouble with most people," declared Mr. Crewe; "they won't
take the time to bother about politics, and then they complain when
things don't go right. Now I'm givin' my time to it, when I've got other
large interests to attend to."

On his way back to the Pelican, young Tom halted several times
reflectively, as certain points in this conversation which he seemed to
have missed at the time--came back to him. His gratitude to Mr. Crewe as
a public benefactor was profound, of course; but young Tom's sense of
humour was peculiar, and he laughed more than once, out loud, at nothing
at all. Then he became grave again, and went into the hotel and wrote a
long letter, which he addressed to Mr. Austen Vane.

And now, before this chapter which contains these memorable events is
closed, one more strange and significant fact is to be chronicled. On the
evening of the day which saw Mr. Crewe triumphantly leading the insurgent
forces to victory, that gentleman sent his private secretary to the
office of the State Tribune to leave an order for fifty copies of the
paper to be delivered in the morning. Morning came, and the fifty copies,
and Mr. Crewe's personal copy in addition, were handed to him by the
faithful Waters when he entered his dining room at an early hour. Life is
full of disillusions. Could this be the State Tribune he held in his
hand? The State Tribune of Mr. Peter Pardriff, who had stood so staunchly
for Mr. Crewe and better things? Who had hitherto held the words of the
Leith statesman in such golden estimate as to curtail advertising columns
when it was necessary to print them for the public good?

Mr. Crewe's eye travelled from column to column, from page to page, in
vain. By some incredible oversight on the part of Mr. Pardriff, the
ringing words were not there,--nay, the soul-stirring events of that
eventful day appeared, on closer inspection, to have been delib