rifield of Chicago. You know,
Mr. Brotherton," it was the wife of the Judge who spoke, "I think we
should try to cultivate those whose wide advantages make our association
with them a liberal education. What is it Emerson says about
Friendship--in that wonderful essay--I'm sure you'll recall it."

And Mr. Brotherton was sure he would too, and indicated as much, for as
he had often said to Mr. Fenn in their literary confidences, "Emerson is
one of my best moving lines." And Mrs. Van Dorn continued
confidentially: "Now there's a book, a German book--aren't those Germans
candid--you know I'm of German extraction, and I tell the Judge that's
where I get my candor. Well, there's a German book--I can't pronounce
it, so I've written it out--there; will you kindly order it?" Mr.
Brotherton took the slip and went to the back of the store to make a
memorandum of the order. He left the book counter in charge of Miss
Calvin--Miss Ave Calvin--yes, Miss Ave Maria Calvin, if you must know
her full name, which she is properly ashamed of. But it pleased her
mother twenty years before and as Mr. Calvin was glad to get into the
house on any terms when the baby was named, it went Ave Maria Calvin,
and Ave Maria Calvin stood behind the counter reading the _Bookman_
and trying to remember the names of the six best sellers so that she
could order them for stock.

Mrs. Van Dorn, who kept Mrs. Calvin's one card conspicuously displayed
in her silver card case in the front hall, saw an opportunity to make a
little social hay, so she addressed Miss Calvin graciously: "Good
morning, Ave--how is your dear mother? What a charming effect Mr.
Brotherton has produced!" Then Mrs. Van Dorn dropped the carefully
modulated voice a trifle lower: "When the book comes that I just
ordered, kindly slip it to one side; I wouldn't have Mr. Brotherton--he
might misunderstand. But you can read it if you wish--take it home over
night. It's very broadening."

When Mr. Brotherton returned the baby voice prattled at him. The voice
was saying, "I was just telling Ave how dead swell it is here. I just
can't get over it--in Harvey--dear old Harvey; do you remember when I
was a little school teacher down in the Prospect schoolhouse and you
used to order Chautauqua books--such an innocent little school
girl--don't you remember? We wouldn't say how long ago that was, would
we, Mr. Brotherton? Oh, dear, no. Isn't it nice to talk over old times?
Did you know the Jared Thurst