Lydia Orr had seated herself in an old-fashioned chair, its tall carved back turned to the open windows. “Did you—lose much in the bank failure, Miss Daggett?” she inquired, after a slight pause, during which the promoter of Famous People was loosening the strings of her black silk bag. “About two hundred dollars I’d saved up,” replied Miss Daggett. “By now it would be a lot more—with the interest.” “Yes, of course,” assented their hostess; “one should always think of interest in connection with savings.” She appeared to be gazing rather attentively at the leather-bound prospectus Miss Daggett had withdrawn from her bag. “That looks like something interesting, Miss Daggett,” she volunteered. “This volume I’m holdin’ in my hand,” began that lady, professionally, “is one of the most remarkable works ever issued by the press of any country. It is the life history of one thousand men and women of world-wide fame and reputation, in letters, art, science _an’_ public life. No library nor parlor table is complete without this authoritative work of general information _an’_ reference. It is a complete library in itself, and—” “What is the price of the work, Miss Daggett?” inquired Lydia Orr. “Just hold on a minute; I’m coming to that,” said Miss Daggett firmly. “As I was telling you, this work is a complete library in itself. A careful perusal of the specimen pages will convince the most skeptical. Turning to page four hundred and fifty-six, we read:—” [Illustration] “Just hold on a minute; I’m coming to that,” said Miss Daggett firmly. “I’m sure I should like to buy the book, Miss Daggett.” “You ain’t th’ only one,” said the agent. “Any person of even the most ordinary intelligence ought to own this work. Turning to page four hundred and fifty-six, we read: ‘Snipeley, Samuel Bangs: lawyer ligislator _an’_ author; born eighteen hundred fifty-nine, in the town of—’” At this moment the door was pushed noiselessly open, and a tall, spare woman of middle age stood upon the threshold bearing a tray in her hands. On the tray were set forth silver tea things, flanked by thin bread and butter and a generous pile of sponge cake. “You must be tired and thirsty after your drive,” said Lydia Orr hospitably. “You may set the tray here, Martha.” The maid complied. “Of course I must have that book, Miss Daggett,” their hostess went on. “You didn’t mention the title, nor the price. Won’t you have a cup of tea, Mrs. Daggett?” “That cup of tea looks real nice; but I’m afraid you’ve gone to a lot of trouble and put yourself out,” protested Mrs. Daggett, who had not ventured to open her lips until then. What wonderful long words Lois had used; and how convincing had been her manner. Mrs. Daggett had resolved that “Lives of Famous People,” in its best red leather binding, should adorn her own parlor table in the near future, if she could persuade Henry to consent.