J.
P. Thornton and I still say it!"--"No you didn't, I tell you! Sandy'll
kick over the traces when we get going on this campaign, though. Not
in? Where in thunder is he? Tell him to call me the minute he gets
back. Yes, that's a fact, Rod!" And he slammed the receiver down and
took to scribbling furiously again. "Sandy'll put on his plug hat and
his swallow-tail coat and hike like the limited express for
Willoughby's office the minute he sees our names heading that
petition!" He shut his eyes, and, leaning back, laughed in delighted
anticipation of losing their most valuable client.

Roderick felt impatient. To him the affair was no laughing matter. To
lose Graham's business was unthinkable, to keep out of this troublesome
temperance campaign seemed impossible. One moment he felt he must come
out right boldly for the cause, the next he called himself a fool, for
letting such a doubtful thing stand in the way of his best interests.

But before the necessity for declaring himself came upon him, the
temperance campaign suffered a severe check. The trouble arose in an
unexpected quarter, not from the enemy, but in the ranks of the
advancing army itself. The temperance ship ran against the rock that
threatened to split it altogether, on the last Sunday in November.
This day was celebrated as St. Andrew's Sunday, the day when the
society of the Sons of Scotland, with bonnets on their heads, plaidies
on their shoulders and heather in their button-holes, paraded to church
in a body and had a sermon preached to them by a minister brought up
from the city for the purpose of glorifying Scotland and edifying her
sons. As nearly all the Presbyterian congregation of Algonquin was
Scotch, every one else was as much edified as the Sons themselves; but
there was one prominent exception and that was J. P. Thornton.

Mr. Thornton was an Englishman, born within the sound of Bow Bells,
and, like a true Briton, intensely proud of the fact, and though he was
as liberal in his general views as he was in politics, and had
delivered many a fine speech on Imperialism, yet some stubborn latent
prejudice arose in his heart and threatened to overflow every St.
Andrew's Sunday.

It was not that he objected so much to the tartan-and-heather bedecked
rows occupying the front pews of the church, on St. Andrew's Sunday.
He was inclined to look upon them with some lofty amusement, saying
that if they liked that sort of child's play it w