The entrance of Martin Garrity, superintendent of the Blue Ribbon Division of the O.R.& T. Railroad, had been attended by all the niceties of such an occasion, when Martin, grand, handsome, and magnificent, arrived at his office for the day. True to form, he had cussed out the office boy, spoken in fatherly fashion to the trainmaster over the telephone about the lateness of No. 210, remarked to the stenographer that her last letter had looked like the exquisite tracks of a cow's hoof--and then he had read two telegrams. A moment later, white, a bit stooped, a little old in features, he had left the office, nor had he paused to note the grinning faces of those in his wake, those who had known hours before! Home, and stumbling slightly as he mounted the steps of the veranda, he faced a person in screaming foulard and a red toque, Mrs. Jewel Garrity, just starting for the morning's assault upon the market. Wordlessly he poked forward the first of the telegrams as he pulled her within the hall and shut the door. And with bulging eyes Jewel read it aloud: Chicago, April 30. GARRITY, Montgomery City: Effective arrival successor J.P. Aldrich must dispense your valuable services. Kindly forward resignation by wire confirming this telegram. W.W. WALKER, Vice-President & General Manager. "And who is this Walker person?" Jewel asked, with a vindictive gasp. "'Tis me that never heard of him. Why should he sign hisself vice prisident and giniral manager when the whole world knows Mr. Barstow, bless his soul, is the----" "Will ye listen?" Martin bellowed with sorrowful asperity. "Somethin's happened. And now: GARRITY, Montgomery City. Alabaster abound celebrity conglomerate commensurate constituency effective arrival successor. Meet me Planters Hotel St. Louis this P.M. LEMUEL C. BARSTOW." And while Jewel gasped Martin went on: "'Tis code it is, from Barstow. It says Walker's taken his place--and I'm out." Mouth drawn at the corners, hand trembling slightly, Jewel reached for the message and stared blankly at the railroad code. Then silently she turned and thumped up the stairs. In a moment she was down again; the screaming foulard had given place to a house dress; the red toque had been substituted by a shawl. But the lips were drawn no longer--a smile was on them, and a soft hand touched Martin's white cheek as she reached the door. "'Tis me that's goin' to the cash-carry, Marty darlin'," came quietly. "I never liked that high-toned market annyhow. About--about that other, Marty, me bye, 'tis all right, it is, it is. We can always start over again."