its inhabitants into the local
metropolis, their pockets filled with greased dollars. Upon them
Worthington lavishes its left-over and shelf-cluttering merchandise, at
fifty per cent more than its value, amidst general rejoicings. As Festus
Willard once put it, "There is a sound of revelry by night and larceny
by day." But then Mr. Willard, being a manufacturer and not a retailer,
lacks the subtler sympathy which makes lovely the spirit of Old Home
hospitality.

This year the celebration was to outdo itself. Because of the centennial
feature, no less a person than the President of the United States, who
had spent a year of his boyhood at a local school, was pledged to
attend. In itself this meant a record crowd. Crops had been good locally
and the toil-worn agriculturist had surplus money wherewith to purchase
phonographs, gold teeth, crayon enlargements of self and family, home
instruction outfits for hand-painting sofa cushions, and similar prime
necessities of farm life. To transform his static savings into dynamic
assets for itself was Worthington's basic purpose in holding its gala
week. And now this beneficent plan was threatened by one individual, and
he young, inexperienced, and a new Worthingtonian, Mr. Harrington
Surtaine. This unforeseen cloud upon the horizon of peace, prosperity,
and happiness rose into the ken of Dr. Surtaine the day after the
appearance of the sewing-girl editorial.

Dr. Surtaine hadn't liked that editorial. With his customary air of
long-suffering good nature he had told Hal so over his home-made apple
pie and rich milk, at the cheap and clean little luncheon place which he
patronized. Hal had no defense or excuse to offer. Indeed, his reference
to the topic was of the most casual order and was immediately followed
by this disconcerting question:

"What about the Rookeries epidemic, Dad?"

"Epidemic? There's no epidemic, Boyee."

"Well, there's something. People are dying down there faster than they
ought to. It's spread beyond the Rookeries now."

This was no news to the big doctor. But it was news to him that Hal knew
it.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"I've been down there and ran right upon it."

The father's affection and alarm outleapt his caution at this. "You
better keep away from there, Boyee," he warned anxiously.

"If there's no epidemic, why should I keep away?"

"There's always a lot of infection down in those tenements," said Dr.
Surtaine lamely.

"Dad, whe