on and eternal
bliss, and that the newspaper men are enough sight better than Lot
ever thought of being, and are spending Sunday as they should,
peacefully in the bosoms of their own families. In fact, Henry, my
mental and spiritual outlook has cleared. What in creation is that
wad of broken box you are carrying as if it would go off any minute?"

Henry told him the story in a few words.

"Gee whiz!" said Meeks. "I thought I had finished the Sunday papers
and here you are with another sensation. Let's see the stuff."

Henry gave the crumpled box with the mass of candy to Meeks, who
examined it closely. He smelled of it. He even tasted a bit. "It's
all beyond me," he said, finally. "I am loath to admit that a
sensation has lit upon us here in East Westland. Leave it with me,
and I'll see what is the matter with it, if there's anything. I don't
think myself there's anything, but I'll take it to Wallace. He's an
analytical chemist, and holds his tongue, which is worth more than
the chemistry."

"You will not say a word--" began Henry, but Meeks interrupted him.

"Don't you know me well enough by this time?" he demanded, and Henry
admitted that he did.

"Do you suppose I want all this blessed little town in a tumult, and
the devil to pay?" said Meeks. "It is near time for me to start some
daisy wine, too. I shouldn't have a minute free. There'd be suits for
damages, and murder trials, and the Lord knows what. I'd rather make
my daisy wine. Leave this damned sticky mess with me, and I'll see to
it. What in creation any young woman in her senses wants to spend her
time in making such stuff for, anyway, beats me. Women are all more
or less fools, anyhow. I suppose they can't help it, but we ought to
have it in mind."

"I suppose there's something in it," said Henry, rather doubtfully.

Meeks laughed. "Oh, I don't expect any man with a wife to agree with
me," he said. "You might as well try to lift yourself by your
boot-straps; but I've got standing-ground outside the situation and
you haven't. Good-night, Henry. Don't fret yourself over this. I'll
let you know as soon as I know myself."

Henry, passing the Ayres house on his way home, fancied he heard
again a sob, but this time it was so stifled that he was not sure.
"It's mighty queer work, anyway," he thought. He thought also that
though he should have liked a son, he was very glad that he and
Sylvia had not owned a daughter. He was fond of Rose, but, although
sh