t now, the jig's up."

Euphrasia considered and thawed a little.

"They don't often have governors that young, do they?" she asked.

"No," said Tom, forcibly, "they don't. And so far as I know, they haven't
had such a governor for years as Austen would make. But he won't push
himself. You know, Euphrasia, I have always believed that he will be
President some day."

Euphrasia received this somewhat startling prediction complacently. She
had no doubt of its accuracy, but the enunciation of it raised young Tom
in her estimation, and incidentally brought her nearer her topic.

"Austen ain't himself lately," she remarked.

"I knew that he didn't get along with Hilary," said Tom, sympathetically,
beginning to realize now that Euphrasia had come to talk about her idol.

"It's Hilary doesn't get along with him," she retorted indignantly. "He's
responsible--not Austen. Of all the narrow, pig-headed, selfish men the
Lord ever created, Hilary Vane's the worst. It's Hilary drove him out of
his mother's house to live with strangers. It's Austen that comes around
to inquire for his father--Hilary never has a word to say about Austen."
A trace of colour actually rose under Euphrasia's sallow skin, and she
cast her eyes downward. "You've known him a good while, haven't you,
Tom?"

"All my life," said Tom, mystified again, "all my life. And I, think more
of him than of anybody else in the world."

"I calculated as much," she said; "that's why I came." She hesitated.
Artful Euphrasia! We will let the ingenuous Mr. Gaylord be the first to
mention this delicate matter, if possible. "Goodness knows, it ain't
Hilary I came to talk about. I had a notion that you'd know if anything
else was troubling Austen."

"Why," said Tom, "there can't be any business troubles outside of those
Hilary's mixed up in. Austen doesn't spend any money to speak of, except
what he gives away, and he's practically chief counsel for our company."

Euphrasia was silent a moment.

"I suppose there's nothing else that could bother him," she remarked. She
had never held Tom Gaylord's powers of comprehension in high estimation,
and the estimate had not risen during this visit. But she had undervalued
him; even Tom could rise to an inspiration--when the sources of all other
inspirations were eliminated.

"Why," he exclaimed, with a masculine lack of delicacy, "he may be in
love--"

"That's struck you, has it?" said Euphrasia.

But Tom appeared to be thin