To Mr. and Mrs. Vanderhook these had been years of social advancement and material success. Since his father’s death, the drug business had prospered in his son’s hands. The young man had also developed interest in politics and acquired a few ambitions in Kankakee. Our old friend “Bill” was now “William.” He was more than this. He was known and referred to as the Honorable Wm. K. Vanderhook; for he had enjoyed successive honors as Councilman, Mayor, and was now talked of for the Legislature. It was in view of this that his friends gave him the complimentary prefix. He was also Captain of the Home Guard, Chairman of the County Committee, Secretary of the Y. M. C. A., and President of the Electric Light Plant. All this he was, and did, and still umpired at many a ball game, and judged at all the Baby Shows. And what of his wife, the adorable Typewriter, who had chosen the “Mansard Roof” and given notice to Slaughter & Steers on that sunny June morning five years ago? She was the same charming and insouciant Imogene, the same dainty and debonnair creature who had so swiftly captured the town and won for herself all modern conveniences and many of the luxuries. She was a light in the first circle of Kankakee. She gave “functions.” Her “At homes” were highly spoken of. Her Pink Teas and Lavender Dinners, and red Touring Car and yellow Toy Dogs were the talk of the town. With a gentle but firm hand she ruled her husband’s house, and purse--and himself--when he was not looking. Near-silks and close-to-Seals and Rhinestones knew her no more. It was now the Real Thing, and nickle-saving days were past, and the trolley car and the matinee gallery were forgotten. But she still remembered Alonzo Leffingwell. She occasionally wondered if he had forgotten her. Tonight is the fifth anniversary of their marriage, and Mr. and Mrs. Vanderhook have entertained a large company. The best people of Kankakee and some choice friends of Chicago had gathered under the Mansard Roof. It was a long-remembered festivity. Society called it a Swell Affair. Imogene had invited them to a “little informal,” but the Honorable William privately declared it to be a Blow-Out. From whichever point of view it was considered it was the climax of the Vanderhook social successes. It is long past midnight. Mr. and Mrs. V---- are at last alone. The fifth anniversary has passed into history. The guests are gone. The great house is empty. The doors are closed. The burglar alarm is set. On departing, each guest had rapturously pronounced the whole thing a success. So did the host and hostess later on--when they had counted and compared the value of the gifts with the cost of the entertainment. When they discovered that the presents would figure up twice over the cost of the reception, they retired to their sleeping rooms elate with the consciousness of having discharged many social obligations, and their duty to themselves.