."

"Yes," murmured Mary, "I suppose they do."

"They do," said Uncle Stanley. "So I'll call a stockholders' meeting
right away. Meanwhile if you will sign this proxy--"

But just as quietly Mary murmured, "I'd like to think it over."

They looked at each other then--those two--with that careful, yet
careless-appearing glance which two duellists might employ when some
common instinct warns them that sooner or later they will cross their
swords.

Uncle Stanley was the first to lower his eye.

"The law requires three directors," he said in his more usual grumpy
voice, "or I wouldn't have bothered you. I'll leave it and you can sign
it and send it down this afternoon."

But Mary did neither. Instead she went to see Judge Cutler and when
the stockholders' meeting was finally called, she attended it in
person--holding practically all the stock--and Judge Cutler was elected
to fill the vacancy.

Uncle Stanley just managed to control himself. It took an effort, but he
did it.

"We've got to elect a president next," he said, trying to make a joke of
it, but unable to keep the tremor of testiness out of his voice. "Of
course I've been here all my life--if that counts for anything--and I am
now serving in the more or less humble capacity of vice-president--but if
the judge would like to throw up his law business and try the
manufacturing end instead--"

"No," smiled the judge, lighting a bombshell--though Uncle Stanley little
guessed it--"I think the position calls for some one younger than I am.
Besides, my name is Cutler, whereas for eight generations this concern
has been headed by a Spencer.

"You know, Mr. Woodward, lawyers are sticklers for precedent, and it
seems to me that as long as there is a Spencer left in the family, that
good old name should stand at the head.

"For the office of president I therefore cast my vote in favour of the
last of the Spencers--Miss Mary--"

That was the bombshell, and oh, but didn't it rock Uncle Stanley back on
his heels!

"Of course, if you want to make a joke of the company," he said at last,
sticking out his lower lip till it made a little shelf, although it
wasn't a very steady little shelf because it trembled as though from
emotion. "'President, Mary Spencer'--you know as well as I do what people
will think when they see that on the letterhead--"

"Unfortunately, yes," said the judge, flashing him one of his hawk's
glances but still speaking in his gentle voice. "S