utting off his son for no worse a crime
than marrying a girl thoroughly respectable, but of humble birth.

Stephen Ray, since he came into possession of his uncle's estate, had
improved it considerably. He had torn down the old stable and built an
imposing new one. The plain carriage which had satisfied his uncle had
been succeeded by an elegant coach, and the slow horse by a pair of
spirited steeds.

Mr. Ray had become pompous, and by his manner made it clear that he
considered himself a man of great consequence. He was a local magistrate,
and had for years endeavored to obtain a nomination for Congress.

Had he been of popular manners, he would probably have succeeded, but he
was not a favorite among the poorer classes, and their vote must be
considered.

There is an old saying, "Like father, like son," and Clarence, now turned
sixteen, the only child of the country magnate, was like his father in all
objectionable qualities. He was quite as much impressed with ideas of his
own consequence.

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon. Mr. Ray sat on the piazza,
the day being unusually warm, reading a newspaper. In the street near by,
his son Clarence was moving swiftly on a new velocipede which his father
had just purchased for him.

"Out of the way, there!" he called out, as a shabbily dressed stranger
with a weary step plodded along the pathway.

Whether because he was hard of hearing or because his mind was
preoccupied, the stranger did not heed the warning, and Clarence, who
might easily have avoided the collision, ran into him recklessly. Had the
wheel been moving at a greater rate of speed, he might have been seriously
hurt. As it was, he was nearly thrown down.

But he rallied, and seizing the offending rider with no gentle grasp,
dragged him from the wheel, and shook him vigorously.

"Let me alone, you tramp!" exclaimed Clarence furiously.

But the stranger did not release his hold.

"Not till you apologize for running into me," he answered sternly.

"Apologize to a man like you!" ejaculated Clarence, struggling furiously
for his freedom.

"Will you apologize?"

"There is no need of an apology. You got in my way."

"You have no business on the sidewalk with your wheel. It is meant for
foot passengers."

"Do you know who I am?" demanded Clarence haughtily.

"No, I don't, nor do I care."

"I am Clarence Ray, son of Squire Stephen Ray. He is a magistrate, and he
can send you to jail."

T