Mrs. Burgess prided herself upon being able to meet just such situations; and Susie was so demure--there was about the child something so appealing and winning--that Mrs. Burgess dipped her colors. “Certainly, Mr. Pendleton. I’m sure that Mr. Merrill will feel honored to be included. And I shall be delighted to chaperon Miss Parker.” “Miss Parker has agreed to help me run down some obscure authorities on the mound-builders a little later, and the trip will give her a chance to see what they have in the university library. I can’t afford to take any more chances with so much doubtful scientific lore floating about.” “I should think,” remarked Floy carelessly, “you would find help of some kind almost essential in your future work.” “I think, myself,” said Susie with an uncontrollable resurgence of her Susiness, “that it would save an a-w-f-u-l l-o-t o-f t-r-o-u-b-l-e!” THE GIRL WITH THE RED FEATHER I Mr. Webster G. Burgess, president of the White River National Bank, started slightly as he looked up from the letter he had been reading and found Hill, the Government detective, standing at the rail. Burgess dropped the letter into a drawer and said briskly: “Hello, Hill--looking for me?” “No; not yet!” This was an established form of salutation between them and they both grinned. Burgess rose and leaned against the rail, while the detective summarized his latest counterfeiting adventure, which had to do with a clew furnished by a bad bill that had several weeks earlier got by one of the White River National tellers. Hill had bagged the maker of the bill, and he had just been satisfying himself that the teller would be ready to testify the next day before the Federal grand jury. Hill visited the bank frequently and Burgess knew him well. The secret-service man was a veteran hunter of offenders against the peace and dignity of the United States, and, moreover, a capital story-teller. Burgess often asked him into his private office for an hour’s talk. He had once given a dinner in Hill’s honor, inviting a select coterie of friends who knew a good tale when they heard it and appreciated a shrewd, resourceful man when they saw him. The White River National was one of the largest and strongest banks in the state, and Burgess was one of the richest men in his native city of Indianapolis; but these facts did not interfere with enjoyment of life according to his lights, which were not unluminous. Having been born on top, he was not without his sympathetic interest in the unfortunates whose lot is cast near the burnt bottom crust, and his generous impulses sometimes betrayed him into doing things that carping critics thought not wholly in keeping with his responsibilities and station in life.