a sense of my own general
worldliness and worthlessness," he replied, laughing as they shook
hands.

"I guess Sylvia can tell you a good many things, Daniel," said Mrs.
Owen. "I wish you'd call Myers--he's my Seymour farmer--on the long
distance in the morning, and tell him not to think I won't be down to
look at his corn when I get back. Tell him I've gone to college, but
I'll be right down there when I get home."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE KINGDOMS OF THE WORLD

Harwood reached the capital on the afternoon of the second day after
Mrs. Owen and Sylvia had gone East, and went at once to the Boordman
Building. Miss Farrell was folding and sealing letters bearing Bassett's
signature.

"Hello, little stranger; I'd begun to think you had met with foul
play, as the hero says in scene two, act three, of 'The Dark
Switch-Lantern'--all week at the Park Theatre at prices within the reach
of all. Business has been good, if you press me for news, but that
paper-mill hasn't had much attention since you departed this life.
Everybody's saying 'Stop, Look, Listen!' When in doubt you say
that,--the white aprons in the one-arm lunch rooms say it now when you
kick on the size of the buns. You will find your letters in the
left-hand drawer. I told that collector from the necktie foundry that he
needn't wear himself to a shadow carrying bills up here; that you paid
all your bills by check on the tenth of the month. As that was the
twenty-ninth, you'd better frame some new by-laws to avoid other breaks
like that. I can't do much lying at my present salary."

She stood with her hands clasping her belt, and continued to enlighten
him on current history as he looked over his letters.

"That young Allen Thatcher has been making life a burden to me in your
lamented absence. Wanted to know every few hours if you had come back,
and threatened to call you up on the long distance at Montgomery, but I
told him you were trying a murder case over there, and that if he didn't
want to get nailed for contempt of court he'd better not interrupt the
proceedings."

"You're speaking of Mr. Allen Thatcher, are you, Miss Farrell?" asked
Harwood, in the tone to which the girl frequently drove him.

"The same, like the mind reader you are! Say, that boy isn't stuck on
you or anything. He came up here yesterday afternoon when the boss was
out and wanted to talk things over. He seemed to think I hadn't anything
to do but be a sister to him and hear his