"Well, Anna," she said, smiling, addressing her maid. "We've made a good beginning. The town, you see, is interested in us." Anna's ordinarily impassive face smiled back at her mistress' enthusiasm. Her blue eyes lighted with admiring loyalty. She was blonde, big boned and so strongly built as to look actually formidable. Competency and reserve power fairly radiated from her. Her voice betrayed her Scandinavian ancestry. "Ya-as," she said, "and in another week they'll be fighting for us." Mary got up from her chair and went to the window, threw it wide open and looked out on the city. She saw its myriad lights rimming the shore of the inland sea. She heard its roar--deep, passionate, powerful. In her imagination she laid her ear close to the city's heart and she heard it beat strong and true. The smile had left her face and a prayer formed itself silently on her lips. The revery lasted only a moment. "And now," she said, "for the next movement in the battle." She indicated the letters. "There's our ammunition, Anna," she said. "Mail them. I've picked you for a great honor. You're to open the engagement with a fusillade of bombshells." CHAPTER XI A BOMB FOR MR. GROGAN The telephone in the outer office of the Lake City Telephone Company rang insistently. Miss Masters, the stenographer, after the fashion of stenographers, let it ring. At length the telephone gave vent to a long, shrill, despairing appeal and was silent. Then, and then only, did Miss Masters lay aside the bundle of letters she was sorting and pick up the receiver. "Yes?" she said. "Well, what is it?" Apparently a voice responded. "Speak a little louder, please," the girl said impersonally. "I can't hear a single word you're saying." More words from the outside poured through the receiver. "Yes." Miss Masters nodded mechanically. "Yes, this is the main office of the Lake City Electrical Company. What?" There was another pause. "This is Miss Masters at the 'phone,--yes--yes--I'm the stenographer. What's that? Private secretary? Yes, I am Mr. John Boland's private secretary. No, our president, Mr. Harry Boland, has not come downtown yet. We are expecting him at any moment." A red-headed office boy stuck an inquisitive head through the door. "Who's that," he demanded, "someone for the boss?" Miss Masters merely motioned him to silence. "Yes," she went on, "his father, Mr. John Boland, will be in some time during the morning. Who shall I say called?" The girl waited for the answer and hung up the receiver. "Who is it, Miss Masters?" inquired the boy. "Well, Dickey, I don't think it's any of your business," retorted Miss Masters good-naturedly. "But, for fear you'll burst with curiosity, I'll say that it's Mr. Martin Druce." "Happy as a crab this morning, ain't you?" jeered the boy. "Well, you want to look out for that geezer, Druce. He's a devil with the girls."