ther was engrossed in a new novel,
but no approving smile or sympathetic tear demonstrated any particular
interest in the fates of the struggling hero or suffering heroine.

Florence sat at the piano, and, in response to Quincy's request that she
would give him some music, played over some chromatic scales and
arpeggios. He declared that they reminded him of grand opera, which
remark sent Maude into a fit of satirical laughter, and Florence up to
her room in a pout.

Then Maude fell to asking Quincy questions about himself, to which he
returned evasive and untruthful answers, until she was, as she said,
completely disgusted. Then she dropped her head upon his shoulder, and
with the arms of the brother whom she dearly loved clasped around her,
she went to sleep. He looked at the sweet girlish face and thought, not
of her, but of Alice.

Next morning he was up early, for he knew that a busy day was before
him. The last thing before retiring, and the first thing upon getting
up, he examined his inside vest pocket, to see if that precious letter,
that priceless trust that he had given his knightly word to deliver, was
safe.

He breakfasted early, and eight o'clock found him in Bowdoin Square, at
the corner of Green and Chardon Streets. His first visit was to a safe
manufactory, a few doors from the corner, where he purchased one for the
firm of Strout & Maxwell.

After traversing both sides of Friend Street, he finally settled upon
two horses, stout country roadsters, and left an order for their
shipment to Eastborough Centre, when they were notified that the wagons
were ready. He bought the wagons in Sudbury Street. They had red bodies
and yellow wheels, and the words, "Strout & Maxwell, Mason's Corner,
Mass.," were to be placed on them in gold letters.

These tasks completed, Quincy walked up Tremont Row by Scollay's
Building. Crossing Pemberton Square, he continued up Tremont Street
until he came to the building in which was the law office of Curtis
Carter, one of his law school chums.

"Hello, Curt!" said he, as he entered the somewhat dingy office.

"Well, 'pon honor, Quincy," cried Curtis, "the sight of you is good for
sore eyes, and I've got such a beastly cold that I can't see with one
eye and can't read with the other."

"Well," said Quincy, "I came in here intending to consult you
professionally, but I don't think a blind lawyer will answer my
purpose."

"Oh, I shall be all right in a few minutes," re