The formal announcement of the engagement of Laura Nesbit and Thomas Van Dorn came when Mrs. Nesbit began tearing out the old floors on the second story of the Nesbit home and replacing them with hardwood floors. Having the carpenters handy she added a round tower with which to impress the Schenectady Van Dorns with the importance of the Maryland Satterthwaites. In this architectural outburst the town read the news of the engagement. The town was so moved by the news that Mrs. Hilda Herdicker was able to sell to the young women of her millinery suzerainty sixty-three hats, which had been ordered "especially for Laura Nesbit," at prices ranging from $2.00 to $57. Each hat was carefully, indeed furtively, brought from under the counter, or from the back room of the shop or from a box on a high shelf and secretly exhibited and sold with injunctions that the Nesbits must not be told what Mrs. Herdicker had done. One of these hats was in reach of Violet Mauling's humble twenty dollars! Poor Violet was having a sad time in those days. No candy, no soda water, no ice cream, no flowers; no buggy rides, however clandestine, nor fervid glances--nothing but hard work was her unhappy lot and an occasional clash with Mr. Brotherton. Thus the morning after the newly elected Mayor had heard the formal announcement of the engagement, he hurried to the offices of Calvin & Van Dorn to congratulate his friend: "Hello, Maudie," said Mr. Brotherton. "Oh, it isn't Maudie--well then, Trilby, tell Mr. Van Dorn the handsome gentleman has came." Hearing Brotherton's noise Van Dorn appeared, to summon his guest to the private office. "Well, you lucky old dog!" was Mr. Brotherton's greeting. "Well, say--this is his honor, the Mayor, come up to collect your dog tax! Well, say!" As he walked into the office all the secret society pins and charms and signets--the Shriners' charm, the Odd Fellows' links, the Woodmen's ax, the Elks' tooth, the Masons' square and compass, the Knights Templars' arms, were glistening upon his wrinkled front like a mosaic of jewels! Mr. Brotherton shook his friend's hand, repeating over and over, "Well, say--" After the congratulatory ceremony was finished Mr. Brotherton cried, "You old scoundrel--I'd rather have your luck than a license to steal in a mint!" Then with an eye to business, he suggested: "I'll just about open a box of ten centers down at my home of the letters and arts for you when the boys drop around!" He backed out of the room still shaking Mr. Van Dorn's hand, and still roaring, "Well, say!" In the outer office he waved a gracious hand at Miss Mauling and cried, "Three sugars, please, Sadie--that will do for cream!" and went laughing his seismic laugh down the stairs. That evening the cigar box stood on the counter in Brotherton's store. It was wreathed in smilax like a votive offering and on a card back of the box Mr. Brotherton had written these pious words: