"I suppose I could get you to work overtime and hurry the job through if I'm willing to pay for it?" the millionaire inquired. "The rate would be time an' a half for work done after the eight hours are up, but it's hard to get any one to work overtime these days." "Well, go ahead and get all the work you can out of these plutocrats of the saw and hammer. I'll pay the bills," said J. Patterson. The terms created a record in Bingville. But, as Mr. Bing had agreed to them, in his haste, they were established. Israel Sneed, the plumber, was working with his men on a job at Millerton, but he took on the plumbing for the Bing house extension, at prices above all precedent, to be done as soon as he could get to it on his return. The butcher and grocer had improved the opportunity to raise their prices for Bing never questioned a bill. He set the pace. Prices stuck where he put the peg. So, unwittingly, the millionaire had created conditions of life that were extremely difficult. Since prices had gone up the village of Bingville had been running down at the heel. It had been at best and, in the main, a rather shiftless and inert community. The weather had worn the paint off many houses before their owners had seen the need of repainting. Not until the rain drummed on the floor was the average, drowsy intellect of Bingville roused to action on the roof. It must be said, however, that every one was busy, every day, except Hiram Blenkinsop, who often indulged in _ante mortem_ slumbers in the graveyard or went out on the river with his dog Christmas, his bottle and his fishing rod. The people were selling goods, or teaming, or working in the two hotels or the machine shop or the electric light plant or the mill, or keeping the hay off the lawns, or building, or teaching in the schools. The gardens were suffering unusual neglect that season--their owners being so profitably engaged in other work--and the lazy foreigners demanded four dollars and a half a day and had to be watched and sworn at and instructed, and not every one had the versatility for this task. The gardens were largely dependent on the spasmodic industry of schoolboys and old men. So it will be seen that the work of the community had little effect on the supply of things necessary to life. Indeed, a general habit of extravagance had been growing in the village. People were not so careful of food, fuel and clothing as they had been. It was a wet summer in Bingville. The day after the rains began, Professor Renfrew called at the house of the sniffy Snodgrass--the nouveau riche and opulent carpenter. He sat reading the morning paper with a new diamond ring on the third finger of his left hand. "My roof is leaking badly and it will have to be fixed at once," the Professor announced. "I'm sorry, I can't do a thing for you now," said Snodgrass. "I've got so much to do, I don't know which way to turn." "But you're not working this rainy day, are you?" the Professor asked.