“O _Mrs._ Hummel!” came Mrs. Stoker’s winning voice, and everybody listened. There was the purple-draped hostess flowing toward the preacher’s wife. “I was dreadfully afraid you wouldn’t come! I’m _so_” (powerful kiss) “glad you did! And dear Mr. Hummel?” “To-night he works on his sermon,” said Mrs. Hummel, beaming about on the faces of the alert and delightfully surprised company. “I persuaded him to run in for me later; for I just came to look on. Of course,” here she turned the sweet lips toward Mrs. Stoker, “you couldn’t expect us to play.” Mrs. Stoker put new fuel in her smile to Mrs. Hummel; and Mrs. Hummel did likewise further fire up her smile to Mrs. Stoker; and the edified company sat down. The games went on with a vim that made it seem some hungry gambling spirit, dormant in the town, rose up and reveled. Mrs. Stoker had risked it all on her belief in the psychological moment--and won! The town was ready for sin. “And that little statue is the prize,” now said Mrs. Stoker, moving about. “Mrs. Hummel, would you hold it up?” All eyes came round in sneaking way toward Mrs. Hummel, who grew pallid. There, on the mantel, near her hand as she stood to watch, was the statuette--a nude Greek maid. “Would you mind holding it up? They can’t see,” repeated Mrs. Stoker, louder, fires in her eyes. Hypnotized, Mrs. Hummel lifted it and saw a price tag, $7.50. “Why,” said she, forcing into her voice the daring experiment of a note of censure, “I didn’t know there was to be a prize!” “Oh,” echoed Mrs. Wheelock from a distance, instilling into her tones a strain of triumph, “I didn’t know there was to be a prize!” “No!” chimed all the women, in mutually sanctioning delight, “we didn’t know there was to be a prize!” “Just a cheap little thing,” said Mrs. Stoker. A new brightening of eyes fastened on euchre decks. The games went on with strange excitement; for, lo! all the women had suddenly resolved to win or ruin their nerves in the fight. “Would you punch--while I look to the sherbet?” whispered Mrs. Stoker to Mrs. Hummel, with new, bald patronage. The preacher’s wife stared round. The fascination of the game was influencing her. She felt her footing go; she saw the Stoker triumph, the reins gone from her hand. Desperately did she leap at this only chance to cling to the victorious vehicle of pleasure which her rival from this night on was to drive headlong through the Puritanic mood of Euchretown. Mrs. Hummel punched the cards. More fierce became the spirit of gaming, until, with final shriek of delight, Mrs. Wheelock won the statue. Followed by jealous eyes she took it. “Splendid!” she cried, examining the tag and seeing $7.50. Then she passed it round. “Beautiful!” said the women, seeing $7.50. And the corruption of Euchretown was accomplished.