Among the first to push his way to the front was the stalwart form of the gambler, Chambers, and the stage was soon crowded with business men and not a few women. Mr. Lindsley looked around. "Where's Falkner?" he said. No one knew. And when Dick could not be found, Mr. Lindsley called the company to order. The editor of the Whistler was chosen to preside, with Mr. Conklin the express agent, for secretary. Then a committee on constitution and by-laws was appointed, and the company adjourned to meet in the Commercial Club rooms the next Wednesday night. But where was Dick? Unnoticed by the audience while their attention was diverted toward Mr. Lindsley, he had slipped from the rear of the stage and had made his way by the back stairs to the street. A half hour later, some of the people, on their way home from the meeting, noticed a tall figure, dressed in a business suit of brown, standing in the shadow of the catalpa trees on the avenue, looking upward at a church spire, built in the form of a giant hand, and at the darkened stained-glass window, in which was wrought the figure of the Christ holding a lamb in his arms. Later, they might have seen the same figure walking slowly past a beautiful residence a few blocks farther up the street, and when opposite a corner window, pausing a moment to stand with bared head, while the lips moved softly as though whispering a benediction upon one whose memory filled the place with pleasure and with pain. About one o'clock on the following Wednesday, Uncle Bobbie Wicks dropped into the printing office. Udell had not returned from dinner. "Good afternoon, Mr. Wicks," said Dick, looking up from his work, "take a seat. You want to see a proof of those letter-heads, I suppose. Jack, take a proof of that stuff of Mr. Wicks'." Uncle Bobbie sank, puffing, into a chair. "I jing. Wish't I didn't get so fat. Quit smokin' about a month ago. Wife, she wanted me to. To-be-sure, I don't care nothin' fer it nohow. Mighty mean habit too. Where's your pipe?" Dick smiled. "Oh, I haven't any now." "Uh! took to smokin' segars, I reckon." "No," said Dick, "I don't smoke at all." "Oh." Uncle Bobbie looked long and thoughtfully at his young friend. "To-be-sure, I don't, _much_.--But I told wife this mornin' I'd have to begin agin if I don't quit gettin' so plaguey fat. D' ye reckon it'd make me sick?" Dick laughed. "You look rather fleshy," he said, encouragingly. "Well, you're a good deal fatter yourself, than you were when I first seen you," said Uncle Bobbie, looking him over with a critical eye. "Yes," admitted Dick, "I guess I am; these are my fat years you know. I'm getting to look at those lean ones as a very bad dream."