It is selling at such a rate in the East that I have a personal profit of two thousand dollars a week. We intend to push it in the West, and we were talking of where would be the best place to locate a branch factory at. My brothers mentioned Chicago, St. Louis, Omaha, Denver, and such places, but I said, "I vote for Wakefield." My brothers said I was cracked. I says maybe I am, but I'm going back to my old home town and spend the rest of my life there and my surplus money, too. I want to beautify Wakefield, and as near as I can remember there is room for improvement. It may not be good business, but it is what I want to do. And also what I want to know is, can I rely on the co-operation of the Wide-a-Wakefield Club in doing its share to build up the old town into a genuine metropolis? Also, what would be the probable cost of a desirable site for the factory? Hoping to receive a favorable reply from you at your earliest convenience, Yours truly, LUKE B. SHELBY. The chairman's grin had grown wider as he read and read. When he had finished the letter he tossed it along the line. Every member read it and shook with equal laughter. "I wonder what kind of green goods he sells?" said Joel Spate, the owner of the Bon-Ton Grocery. "My father used to say to me," said Forshay, of the One-Price Emporium, "whatever else you do, Jake, always suspicion the fellow that offers you something for nothing. There's a nigger in the woodpile some'eres." "That's so," said Soyer, the swell tailor, who was strong on second thought. "He says he's goin' to set up a factory here, but he don't ask for rent free, tax free, light free--nothin' free," said the practical house-painter. "What's the name again?" said Spate. "Shelby--Luke B. Shelby," answered Pettibone. "Says he used to live here twenty years ago. Ever hear of him? I never did." Spate's voice came from an ambush of spectacles and whiskers: "I've lived here all m' life--I'm sixty-three next month. I don't remember any such man or boy." "Me, neither," echoed Soyer, "and I'm here going on thirty-five year." The heads shook along the line as if a wind had passed over a row of wheat. "It's some new dodge for sellin' stock," suspicioned One-Price Forshay, who had a large collection of cutlery certificates. "More likely it's just a scheme to get us talking about his Paradise Powder. Seems to me I've had some of their circulars," said Bon-Ton Spate. Pettibone, the practical chairman, silenced the gossip with a brisk, "What is the pleasure of the meeting as regards answering it?" "I move we lay it on the table," said Eberhart of the Furniture Palace. "I move we lay it under the table," said Forshay, who had a keen sense of humor.