to them
in the evening.

"You can have refreshments, you know, too, after the dinner, and games
and music."

"But," said the unsophisticated host, "won't the boys think I'm playing
it rather low down on them, so to speak, givin' 'em a kind o' second
table, as ef it was the tailings after a strike?"

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Price, with decision. "It's quite fashionable in
San Francisco, and just the thing to do."

To this decision Spindler, in his blind faith in the widow's management,
weakly yielded. An announcement in the "Weekly Banner" that, "On
Christmas evening Richard Spindler, Esq., proposed to entertain his
friends and fellow citizens at an 'at home,' in his own residence,"
not only widened the breach between him and the "boys," but awakened an
active resentment that only waited for an outlet. It was understood that
they were all coming; but that they should have "some fun out of it"
which might not coincide with Spindler's nor his relatives' sense of
humor seemed a foregone conclusion.

Unfortunately, too, subsequent events lent themselves to this irony of
the situation.

He was so obviously sincere in his intent, and, above all, seemed to
place such a pathetic reliance on her judgment, that she hesitated to
let him know the shock his revelation had given her. And what might his
other relations prove to be? Good Lord! Yet, oddly enough, she was so
prepossessed by him, and so fascinated by his very Quixotism, that it
was perhaps for these complex reasons that she said a little stiffly:--

"One of these cousins, I see, is a lady, and then there is your niece.
Do you know anything about them, Mr. Spindler?"

His face grew serious. "No more than I know of the others," he said
apologetically. After a moment's hesitation he went on: "Now you speak
of it, it seems to me I've heard that my niece was di-vorced. But," he
added, brightening up, "I've heard that she was popular."

Mrs. Price gave a short laugh, and was silent for a few minutes. Then
this sublime little woman looked up at him. What he might have seen in
her eyes was more than he expected, or, I fear, deserved. "Cheer up, Mr.
Spindler," she said manfully. "I'll see you through this thing, don't
you mind! But don't you say anything about--about--this Vigilance
Committee business to anybody. Nor about your niece--it was your niece,
wasn't it?--being divorced. Charley (the late Mr. Price) had a queer
sort of sister, who--but that's neither here nor the