one of his seizing charms. No boy could have been more
interested in winning the shuffleboard game than he.

The fat pork packer from Chicago came wheezing toward her. He took the
steamer chair beside Alice and jerked his head toward the spot where
Jeff had disappeared.

"Now if you want my notion, Miss Frome, that's the kind of a man that
breeds anarchy. I've seen his paper. He fills it full of stuff that
makes the workingman discontented with his lot. A trouble maker, that's
what he is. Stops the wheels of industry. Gets in the road of the
boosters to croak hard times."

Alice observed the thick rolls of purple fat that bulged over his
collar.

"Progress now," he went on. "I'm for progress. Develop the country. That
gives work to the laborers and keeps them contented. But men like Farnum
are always hampering development by annoying capital. Now that's foolish
because capital employs labor."

The young woman suggested another possibility. "Or else labor employs
capital."

"What!" The fat little man sat bolt upright in surprise. "I guess you
never heard your Uncle Joe Powers talk any such foolishness." He snorted
indignantly. "Hmp! The best friend labor has got is capital. If I had
the say so I'd crush every labor union--for the good of the working
people themselves."

Alice decided that the mental indigestion of the rich sat heavily upon
him. She felt her temper rising and took advantage of the approach of
Beauchamp to leave quickly.

"Oh, Lieutenant! Have you seen Valencia?"

The Englishman showed surprise. It happened that Alice had at that
moment a view of Mrs. Van Tyle stretched on a deck chair some thirty
feet away.

Miss Frome hurried him along. Presently, with a low laugh, she
explained. "I wanted to get away from him. Carelessly, I dropped a new
idea there. It's likely to go off. You know how dangerous they are."

"To people who haven't many. Had it anything to do with making money?"

"Not directly."

"Then you needn't be alarmed on our stout friend's account. He's immune
to all ideas not connected with that subject."

The double blast of a trumpet invited them to dinner down stairs.

Part 4

Dunn was sitting in the smoking room writing his story of the kidnapping
when a ruddy young Englishman stopped opposite him.

"You're Mr. Dunn, are you not? Reporter for the _World?_"

"Yes." The newspaper man looked him over with a swift, trained
attention.

"A young lady would like to see you