Harry drove a pair of spirited horses. He drove well, and looked both handsome and happy. “Did you know that lady--the mother of the boy that wasn't run over--was coming to see my sister?” said Armorer, on the way. “I did,” said Harry, “I sent her; I thought she could explain the reason why I shall have to oppose the bill, better than I.” Armorer made no reply. At the shops he kept his eye on the young man. Harry seemed to know most of his workmen, and had a nod or a word for all the older men. He stopped several moments to talk with one old German who complained of everything, but looked after Harry with a smile, nodding his head. “That man, Lieders, is our best workman; you can't get any better work in the country,” said he. “I want you to see an armoire that he has carved, it is up in our exhibition room.” Armorer said, “You seem to get on very well with your working people, Mr. Lossing.” “I think we generally get on well with them, and they do well themselves, in these Western towns. For one thing, we haven't much organization to fight, and for another thing, the individual workman has a better chance to rise. That man Lieders, whom you saw, is worth a good many thousand dollars; my father invested his savings for him.” “You are one of the philanthropists, aren't you, Mr. Lossing, who are trying to elevate the laboring classes?” “Not a bit of it, sir. I shall never try to elevate the laboring classes; it is too big a contract. But I try as hard as I know how to have every man who has worked for Harry Lossing the better for it. I don't concern myself with any other laboring men.” Just then a murmur of exclamations came from Mrs. Ellis and Esther, whom the superintendent was piloting through the shops. “Oh, no, it is too heavy; oh, don't do it, Mr. Cardigan!” “Oh, we can see it perfectly well from here! PLEASE don't, you will break yourself somewhere!” Mrs. Ellis shrieked this; but the shrieks turned to a murmur of admiration as a huge carved sideboard came bobbing and wobbling, like an intoxicated piece of furniture in a haunted house, toward the two gentlewomen. Immediately, a short but powerfully built man, whose red face beamed above his dusty shoulders like a full moon with a mustache, emerged, and waved his hand at the sideboard. “I could tackle the two of them, begging your pardon, ladies.” “That's Cardigan,” explained Harry, “Miss Armorer may have told you about him. Oh, SHUEY!” Cardigan approached and was presented. He brought both his heels together and bowed solemnly, bending his head at the same time. “Pleased to meet you, sir,” said Shuey. Then he assumed an attitude of military attention. “Take us up in the elevator, will you, Shuey?” said Harry. “Step in, Mr. Armorer, please, we will go and see the reproductions of the antique; we have a room upstairs.” Mr. Armorer stepped in, Shuey following; and then, before Harry could enter it, the elevator shot upward and--stuck! “What's the matter?” cried Armorer.