Next morning, the Granite _Star_ made known to the world at large that grievous wrong had been done to the city and to its taxpayers when their two foremost public buildings had been erected. These edifices, hitherto the pride of Granite, were constructed of cheap, inferior material: were ill-put together and were, in short, a disgrace, a byword and a hissing. The city and county had paid for first-class work. They had received fourth-rate value for their money. And the miscreant on whom the sole and total blame rested was Caleb Conover, President of the revivified C. G & X. railroad. He, hiding behind the honorable name of a man since dead, had robbed the city with one hand and the county with the other. Now, through the cleverness of a _Star_ reporter, his culpability was at last unearthed. Further, the _Star_ desired, editorially, to avoid needless exploitation of scandal and the bringing to light of misdemeanors for which there now appeared to be no legal penalty. But it owed a duty to its constituents, the thinking class of Granite. Perhaps Mr. Conover, having, since the regrettable transactions, reared upon such fraudulent foundations a fortune which was estimated as verging upon the two million mark, would see his way toward making restitution. To which quip of Caine’s the Fighter retaliated by depressing Steeloid stock. This bit of practical repartee led to a second editorial to the effect that what was done was done, and that perhaps the wisest and most dignified course would be to let the unfortunate matter rest where it was. The lesser newspapers of the town, having bayed with incredible loudness and ferocity the moment the _Star_ gave voice, now showed inclination to follow the leader’s example in letting the scandal die out. There were no further developments in the case to warrant continuous re-hashing of the story through their columns. Ex-Governor Parkman, finding himself and his crusade unceremoniously side-tracked by this more interesting turn affairs had taken, sulked in his tent. Caleb, after that first momentous interview, would see no reporter. A new sensation was thoughtfully provided by the assistant cashier of the Aaron Burr National Bank who wandered one day from his post of duty and neglected to return; taking with him, in equal absent-mindedness, $18,000 of the bank’s funds. Caleb and his inspired confession, for all these excellent reasons, were not even a nine-day wonder. Within a week the volcano had subsided. The incident, apparently, was closed. Whether or not the Grand Jury would take steps toward criminal prosecution remained to be seen. At the end of the week, Caleb, in answer to a peremptory summons, called on Desirée. “Where have you been?” she catechised with the air of an Angora kitten enacting the role of Rhadamanthus. “I’ve been busy,” he evaded, “Workin’ on a new deal we’re puttin’ through, an’--” “Do you know it is eight whole days since you have been near me?” she demanded.