The laugh that followed this sally enabled Frank Barton to recover his composure. These fellows boldly acknowledged their lack of patriotic feeling. He knew that his reasons for claiming exemption until the Hapwood-Diller Company was in good shape again were, at least, commendable. In a desultory way plans were made for the forthcoming garden party to raise funds for the local Red Cross chapter. Barton did not find that either his advice or his efforts were much needed. But he did get a chance to talk with Miss Fuller; and he was not a deep enough student of feminine nature to understand just how shallow she was. The Fullers were of the best socially there was in Mailsburg, despite the fact that their money had come to them comparatively late. Mrs. Fuller’s maiden name had been Diller, and the Dillers dated their aristocracy in the county back to pre-Revolution days. To Barton, whose antecedents had been quite unimportant, such connections in a social way seemed worthy. “Come again to see me, Mr. Barton, when I am alone,” Helen whispered, when he rose to follow the very first group with their knitting bags that made its departure. “One must give one’s self more or less to one’s guests when there is a crowd like this. I want you to take dinner with us soon--quite _en famille_. Will you?” Barton promised. Grandon Fuller had always been cordial with him, and he was glad to be _persona grata_ with the family. After all, it meant considerable to him to be taken up by the Fullers. He was the only person on this occasion to walk away from the house. The others rode in some kind of vehicle. But somebody got into step with Barton less than ten yards from the gateway. “What brings you into the swagger part of the town, Frank?” demanded a harsh voice. “You are not hatching something with Fuller to double-cross the rest of the Hapwood-Diller stockholders?” The young manager knew the character of the speaker too well to be offended. Macon Hammerly wore an apparent grouch to shield himself from the importunities of his fellowmen. He actually could not say “No” to any request or favor asked, unless he shouted it. He was a dry old fellow with stiff, badly brushed iron-gray hair and an aggressive chin-whisker. He was the last man in Mailsburg to wear “half leg” boots and had a local cobbler make them for him. He kept a feed and grain store down on the docks and possessed in all probability more cash in the bank than any other man in town. But he made no display of it. He was distantly related to the Fullers; and he made no display of that, although Helen called him “Uncle.” He bent a curious and somewhat disapproving eye upon Barton as he waited for his answer. “I was just calling there.” “Huh! On whom?” “Miss Fuller took me up into her car and brought me over. It seems there is to be a garden party for the Red Cross----”