“I can remember when Millville dreamed of being a great centre for the trade of the surrounding country, and her future looked bright. Now she sits in sackcloth and ashes, an old, hopeless, frayed-out community, looking with dimming sight upon the prosperity of her sister towns.” Judge Oglesby showed that he had been thinking of Mr. Montague when he next spoke, saying: “Mr. Montague has become a bit old-fashioned in his ideas, Dean. I remember he told me, with a good deal of vinegar in his tone, when I mentioned that you were to come with me: ‘Yes; you have filled his mind with visions. This is called the age of the young man. It is wrong--it is wrong. Does not the wisdom of years count for more than the illusions of youth?’ Now all you have got to do is to show him that you are equal to your opportunity.” “I will, Judge Oglesby,” replied Dean firmly. “If I did not think you would, I should not have selected you to carry out my plans. But there is no need for me to review the situation. We have other matters to talk of in the few minutes given us. I would not have you miss your passage on the _Warrior_ for considerable. The _Spray_ must be brought up in the morning. There are important reasons for this.” “I await your directions, sir.” “Please be seated while I write a letter for you to take along. Then we will talk over our business.” Judge Oglesby was a bright-faced man, whose kindly countenance showed not only good nature, but the results of correct habits. His desk was piled high with letters and documents, proving that he had a busy day before him. In fact, all days were busy ones with Judge Oglesby. While he was waiting for his friend to write the letter, Dean amused himself by looking through an album, which he knew from the name on the flyleaf belonged to Evaline Oglesby. He recognized but few of the portraits, and among this limited number were the pictures of two that he had strong reasons for disliking intensely. These were the photographs of Rodney Darringford and Abner Littleton, sons of the two men of whom he had spoken to Judge Oglesby with so much decisiveness. While this couple were not friendly to each other, he knew both fairly hated him. He realized, too, that this hatred was likely to be increased within a few days if the plans of Judge Oglesby and himself did not meet with failure. Somehow, Dean, as unmanly as he knew it was, could not help feeling somewhat piqued to find their pictures in Evaline Oglesby’s album. But he was, fortunately, interrupted in the midst of these unpleasant reflections by the words of her father: “There you are, Dean, at last,” he said, folding carefully the letter he had written, and placing, not only that, but a check, in the envelope, which he handed, unsealed, to him. The superscription read, written in a bold hand: BROWN, SEWALL & CO., Shipbuilders, Springfield. By Dean Mercer.