There is a new section of the town, too, where the architecture runs to bungalow styles, where the installment collectors from the phonograph houses are regularly seen, and where papa gets out in front and twirls the crank when the family car goes out for its airing. No important line of demarcation separates the old staid section of town from the new and brighter one. Major Trimble, President of the Jordan Bank & Trust Company, accepts deposits from both sections with strict impartiality; the spire of the Methodist Episcopal Church is the Sunday lodestone to folk on both sides of town, as well as for much of the country round. They talk mainly of farms, of cattle and of the weather on the streets of Jordan; and the young folk largely go off to Chicago to make their way in the world. Into this farm-ringed islet of tranquillity, where faith in one's fellowman, and hoarded money, are in abundance, about the time that Roger Payne was beginning to know that his place was not in the city, the afternoon train from the east deposited a large, dignified personage of robust, well-nourished, ministerial manner and apparel, who bore comfortably upon his well-padded shoulders the name, Isaiah Granger. Isaiah Granger! The name alone would have been an open sesame to the important circle which made possible the prosperity of Major Tumble's bank and the First M. E. Church. But Mr. Granger had other things to recommend him. He came, quoth the _Jordan Record_--whose editor's notes Major Trimble held--to make his home in that most beautiful of towns, Jordan City. He was an old friend of Major Tumble's. Mr. Granger was "well fixed"--Major Trimble gave his word for that. Hence Mr. Granger was met at the station by Major Trimble, driven in the Major's ponderous car to his home and there introduced to Mrs. Trimble--strange that being so old a friend of the Major's he should not have met Mrs. Trimble before--and then in the seclusion of the Major's library he had shucked his coat, as it were, and said: "Well, what's the prospects for a killing? Got any of 'em lined up?" "First," retorted Major Trimble, stroking his knife-edged nose, "let me see your credentials from Senator Fairclothe." The visitor smiled and passed over the requested credentials. Major Trimble inspected them as an astute banker should. "All right," he said, and waited. Mr. Granger passed over a bank draft. "All right," repeated the banker, "and ten percent on all sales made here or through connections from here." "Ten per cent," agreed Granger, "and no responsibility to be attached to you." "I'll take care of that," snapped Trimble, "Now, Granger, I think you ought to do some real business here." And Granger did.