eus of Massapequa.

Every now and then Shirley espied in the distance the figure of a
man which she thought she recognized as that of Jefferson. Had he
come, after all? The blood went coursing tumultuously through her
veins only a moment later to leave her face a shade paler as the
man came nearer and she saw he was a stranger. She wondered what
he was doing, if he gave her a thought, if he had spoken to his
father and what the latter had said. She could realize now what
Mr. Ryder's reply had been. Then she wondered what her future life
would be. She could do nothing, of course, until the Senate had
passed upon her father's case, but it was imperative that she get
to work. In a day or two, she would call on her publishers and
learn how her book was selling. She might get other commissions.
If she could not make enough money in literary work she would have
to teach. It was a dreary outlook at best, and she sighed as she
thought of the ambitions that had once stirred her breast. All the
brightness seemed to have gone out of her life, her father
disgraced, Jefferson now practically lost to her--only her work
remained.

As she neared the cottage on her return home she caught sight of
the letter carrier approaching the gate. Instantly she thought of
Jefferson, and she hurried to intercept the man. Perhaps he had
written instead of coming.

"Miss Shirley Rossmore?" said the man eyeing her interrogatively.

"That's I," said Shirley.

The postman handed her a letter and passed on. Shirley glanced
quickly at the superscription. No, it was not from Jefferson; she
knew his handwriting too well. The envelope, moreover, bore the
firm name of her publishers. She tore it open and found that it
merely contained another letter which the publishers had
forwarded. This was addressed to Miss Shirley Green and ran as
follows:

_Dear Madam._--If convenient, I should like to see you at
my office, No. 36 Broadway, in relation to your book "The
American Octopus." Kindly inform me as to the day and hour
at which I may expect you.

Yours truly,
JOHN BURKETT RYDER,
per B.

Shirley almost shouted from sheer excitement. At first she was
alarmed--the name John Burkett Ryder was such a bogey to frighten
bad children with, she thought he might want to punish her for
writing about him as she had. She hurri