of the bright, respectable region in which I lived was in itself an acknowledgment of this. I thought him a thief--a necessary thief--and he knew it: he was indifferent to it; and it amused him, I think, to see clinging to me, when I entered his presence, shreds of that morality which those of my world who dealt with him thought so needful for the sake of decency. He was in bed, reading newspapers, as usual. An empty coffee-cup and a plate were on the littered table. “Sit down, sit down, Paret,” he said. “What do you hear from the Senator?” I sat down, and gave him the news of Mr. Watling. He seemed, as usual, distrait, betraying no curiosity as to the object of my call, his lean, brown fingers playing with the newspapers on his lap. Suddenly, he flashed out at me one of those remarks which produced the uncanny conviction that, so far as affairs in the city were concerned, he was omniscient. “I hear somebody has been getting options on that tract of land beyond the Heights, on the river.” He had “focussed.” “How did you hear that?” I asked. He smiled. “It's Grierson, ain't it?” “Yes, it's Grierson,” I said. “How are you going to get your folks out there?” he demanded. “That's what I've come to see you about. We want a franchise for Maplewood Avenue.” “Maplewood Avenue!” He lay back with his eyes closed, as though trying to visualize such a colossal proposal.... When I left him, two hours later, the details were all arranged, down to Mr. Jason's consideration from Riverside Company and the “fee” which his lawyer, Mr. Bitter, was to have for “presenting the case” before the Board of Aldermen. I went back to lunch at the Boyne Club, and to receive the congratulations of my friends. The next week the Riverside Company was formed, and I made out a petition to the Board of Aldermen for a franchise; Mr. Bitter appeared and argued: in short, the procedure so familiar to modern students of political affairs was gone through. The Maplewood Avenue residents rose en masse, supported by the City Improvement League. Perry Blackwood, as soon as he heard of the petition, turned up at my office. By this time I was occupying Mr. Watling's room. “Look here,” he began, as soon as the office-boy had closed the door behind him, “this is going it a little too strong.” “What is?” I asked, leaning back in my chair and surveying him. “This proposed Maplewood Avenue Franchise. Hugh,” he said, “you and I have been friends a good many years, Lucia and I are devoted to Maude.” I did not reply. “I've seen all along that we've been growing apart,” he added sadly. “You've got certain ideas about things which I can't share. I suppose I'm old fashioned. I can't trust myself to tell you what I think--what Tom and I think about this deal.” “Go ahead, Perry,” I said. He got up, plainly agitated, and walked to the window. Then he turned to me appealingly.