uld pass on into a back eddy of
neighbours, where they would stick, staring at a sign requesting them
please not to pick the flowers.

"Can't somebody stir 'em up?" Mr. Crewe shouted in an interval when the
band had stopped to gather strength for a new effort. "Can't somebody
move 'em round to see the cows and what's in the house and the automobile
and the horses? Move around the driveway, please. It's so hot here you
can't breathe. Some of you wanted to see what was in the house. Now's
your chance."

This graceful appeal had some temporary effect, but the congestion soon
returned, when a man of the hour appeared, a man whose genius scattered
the groups and who did more to make the party a success than any single
individual,--Mr. Hamilton Tooting, in a glorious white silk necktie with
purple flowers.

"I'll handle 'em, Mr. Crewe," he said; "a little brains'll start 'em
goin'. Come along here, Mr. Wright, and I'll show you the best cows this
side of the Hudson Riverall pedigreed prize winners. Hello, Aust, you
take hold and get the wimmen-folks interested in the cabinets. You know
where they are."

"There's a person with some sense," remarked Mrs. Pomfret, who had been
at a little distance among a group of summer-resident ladies and watching
the affair with shining eyes. "I'll help. Come, Edith; come, Victoria
where's Victoria?--and dear Mrs. Chillingham. We American women are so
deplorably lacking in this kind of experience. Alice, take some of the
women into the garden. I'm going to interest that dear, benevolent man
who looks so helpless, and doing his best to have a good time."

The dear, benevolent man chanced to be Mr. Job Braden, who was standing
somewhat apart with his hands in his pockets. He did not move as Mrs.
Pomfret approached him, holding her glasses to her eyes.

"How are you?" exclaimed that lady, extending a white-gloved hand with a
cordiality that astonished her friends. "It is so pleasant to see you
here, Mr.--Mr.--"

"How be you?" said Mr. Braden, taking her fingers in the gingerly manner
he would have handled one of Mr. Crewe's priceless curios. The giraffe
Mr. Barnum had once brought to Ripton was not half as interesting as this
immaculate and mysterious production of foreign dressmakers and French
maids, but he refrained from betraying it. His eye rested on the
lorgnette.

"Near-sighted, be you?" he inquired,--a remark so unexpected that for the
moment Mrs. Pomfret was deprived of speech