he obituary of a famous general failed to detain his
attention. The intelligence that an emperor was moribund lent no zest
to the day. Mechanically his eyes scanned the Court Calendar; a case in
which he was to appear was numbered therein, but he let it pass
unnoticed. And presently, finding himself occupied in memorizing the
advertisement of a new soap, he tossed the paper from him and started on
his way down town.

It was late when he reached his office. In the corner of the room a fat
little man sat patiently twirling his thumbs, and on a desk were a
number of letters.

"What do you want?" Maule asked. His voice was gruff and inhospitable.

The fat little man started, and then fumbled in a pocket. "Dere was dot
morhgige----" he began.

"Come again, then," Maule interrupted; "I am busy."

"Dot morhgige--" the little man persisted.

"Go to hell with your mortgage," Maule shouted, and slammed a door in
his face.

This rite accomplished, he felt better. The brutality which he had
displayed to the corpulent dwarf pleasured him. He only regretted that
the man had not insisted further, that he might have kicked him down
the stairs. What was a mortgage to him, forsooth, when he had Eden for a
goal? The episode, trivial though it was, had stirred his pulse and left
the effect of a tonic. He smiled, and opened his letters. As he read
them his clerk appeared. With him he consulted for a minute and then
started for court. On his return there was the little fat man again, and
beating a tatoo on the window was Reginald Maule, ex-Minister to France.

"Well, Uncle Regy," he exclaimed, "how are you? Mr. Driscoll," he called
out to the clerk, "attend to that Dutch beast, will you? Uncle Regy,
step this way."

He led Mr. Maule into the inner office and graciously accepted a cigar.
He was in great good-humor again. While in court a luminous idea had
visited him, a plan of campaign which he proposed to elaborate at his
ease. It was alluring as spring, and instinct with promises of success.
Already he roamed in dreams forecast.

"Dugald," the uncle began, "I did not see you at the Matriarch's, last
night."

Until recently Maule had not seen his uncle for several years. But
during these years the uncle had not changed. He had the same agreeable
manner, the same way of seating himself, the same sarcastic fold about
his lips which Maule remembered of old. Even the cut of his waistcoat
was unaltered. Apparently nothing had happe