Harbor on the north and Washington on the south, and as for their
western limits, they don't extend beyond Orange County."

"Come, old chap, you're getting into deep water. Didn't I tell you I had
been in Chicago?" objected Waterman.

"You went out West after chickens, and you didn't get beyond a Minnesota
shooting club. As for Chicago, you admit that you were there on a muggy
day and didn't stir two squares from an hotel which, I wager, wasn't the
best in the place. As for the people, one of the best mannered women I
ever met came from Chicago."

"Who was she?" Duncan interrupted. "If there is anybody decent in the
place I want to know her."

"Her name is Mrs. Sanderson. I met her in Washington last winter. Her
uncle was in the State Department and she was visiting him. She had a
friend with her who is also from Chicago, I think, and they both of
them were better read and had less affectation than any women I have met
for a year, at least."

"That sounds encouraging," replied Duncan. "I think I have heard Sibyl
Wright talk about that Mrs. Sanderson. If there is any sport in Chicago
I am bound to have it. My old college chum, Harold Wainwright, has been
living out there for three years and he must know the town by this
time."

"I say, Duncan, won't you have some more liquor? You need it to fortify
your nerves for that voyage of discovery."

"I think you are right, Roland," Duncan replied. "By Jove, though, I
don't believe I have time; I have got a date before dinner."

"Oh, yes you have; just one more for luck. Here, waiter, take the
orders."

The glasses were soon removed and freshly filled ones took their place.
"When are you off?" said Waterman.

"To-morrow on the 'Limited'" was the reply.

"Then let's drink to the great Duncan and his success among the
pork-packers," said Howard-Jones.

The four men quickly drained their glasses and Duncan took a hurried
leave of his friends. "Good-by, Duncan, good-by," were the exchanged
partings. Duncan hurried through the hall, hailed a cab at the door,
gave an uptown address to the driver, jumped into the cab, and was off.

CHAPTER II.

CROSS FIRE.

Duncan was dressing. It was already five minutes past the hour named for
dinner on his invitation, but if Duncan were not late at dinner, it
would deprive the guests of one stock topic of conversation, and he had
never yet been so inconsiderate. No one waited for him, and when he
finally appeared with so