pped under his boots,
his wrinkled frock coat--Lyman twisted his cuffs into sight with an
impatient, nervous movement of his wrists, glancing a second time at
his brother's pink face, forward curling, yellow hair and clothes of
a country cut. But there was no help for it. He wondered what were the
club regulations in the matter of bringing in visitors on Ladies' Day.
"Sure enough, Ladies' Day," he remarked, "I am very glad you struck it,
Governor. We can sit right where we are. I guess this is as good a place
as any to see the crowd. It's a good chance to see all the big guns of
the city. Do you expect your people here, Mr. Cedarquist?"

"My wife may come, and my daughters," said the manufacturer.

"Ah," murmured Presley, "so much the better. I was going to give myself
the pleasure of calling upon your daughters, Mr. Cedarquist, this
afternoon."

"You can save your carfare, Pres," said Cedarquist, "you will see them
here."

No doubt, the invitations for the occasion had appointed one o'clock as
the time, for between that hour and two, the guests arrived in an almost
unbroken stream. From their point of vantage in the round window of the
main room, Magnus, his two sons, and Presley looked on very interested.
Cedarquist had excused himself, affirming that he must look out for his
women folk.

Of every ten of the arrivals, seven, at least, were ladies. They
entered the room--this unfamiliar masculine haunt, where their husbands,
brothers, and sons spent so much of their time--with a certain show of
hesitancy and little, nervous, oblique glances, moving their heads from
side to side like a file of hens venturing into a strange barn. They
came in groups, ushered by a single member of the club, doing the
honours with effusive bows and polite gestures, indicating the various
objects of interest, pictures, busts, and the like, that decorated the
room.

Fresh from his recollections of Bonneville, Guadalajara, and the dance
in Annixter's barn, Presley was astonished at the beauty of these women
and the elegance of their toilettes. The crowd thickened rapidly. A
murmur of conversation arose, subdued, gracious, mingled with the soft
rustle of silk, grenadines, velvet. The scent of delicate perfumes
spread in the air, Violet de Parme, Peau d'Espagne. Colours of the most
harmonious blends appeared and disappeared at intervals in the slowly
moving press, touches of lavender-tinted velvets, pale violet crepes and
cream-coloured