costs.
Accordingly, she opened the campaign on the morning after the reception;
began it at the breakfast-table when she was pouring her father's
coffee.

"You know everybody, and everybody's business, poppa: who is the
treasurer of St. John's?" she inquired.

"How should I know?" grumbled the magnate, whose familiarity with church
affairs was limited to certain writings of a legal nature concerning the
Presbyterian house of worship upon which he held a mortgage.

"You ought to know," asserted Miss Margery, with some asperity. "Isn't
it Mr. Edward Raymer?"

Jasper Grierson frowned thoughtfully into space. "Why, yes; come to
think of it, I guess he is the man. Anyway, he's one of their--what do
you call 'em--trustees?"

"Wardens," corrected Margery.

"Yes, that's it; I knew it was something connected with a penitentiary.
What do you want of him?"

"Nothing much of him: but I want a check for five hundred dollars
payable to his order."

Jasper Grierson's laugh was suggestive of the noise made by a rusty
door-hinge. The tilting of the golden cornucopia had made him a ruthless
money-grubber, but he never questioned his daughter's demands.

"Going in for the real old simon-pure, blue-ribbon brand of
respectability this time, ain't you Madgie?" he chuckled; but he wrote
the check on the spot.

Two hours later, Miss Grierson's cutter, driven by herself, paraded in
Main Street to the delight of any eye aesthetic. The clean-limbed,
high-bred Kentuckian, the steel-shod, tulip-bodied vehicle, and the
faultlessly arrayed young woman tucked in among the costly fur lap robes
were three parts of a harmonious whole; and more than one pair of eyes
looked, and turned to look again; with envy if they were young eyes and
feminine; with frank admiration if they were any age and masculine. For
Miss Grierson, panoplied for conquest, was the latest reincarnation of
the woman who has been turning men's heads and quickening the blood in
their veins since that antediluvian morning when the sons of God saw the
daughters of men that they were fair.

Miss Margery drove daily in good weather, but on this crisp January
morning her outing had an objective other than the spectacular. When the
clean-limbed Kentuckian had measured the length of Main Street, he was
sent on across the railroad tracks into the industrial half of the town,
and was finally halted in front of the Raymer Foundry and Machine Works.

Raymer was at his desk when the