Miles wrote regularly to Rex, even when the latter did not reply. He and his father had moved into the handsome home next the Harringtons’, with Mrs. Fox as housekeeper. “I wonder what people think of the thing,” Rex said once to Roy. There had been no publicity about the transfer. Only a few people knew of it and the cause. On this July day on which we are writing, it was unusually hot. The heat seemed to be frying in the air. It was a day of all others on which to keep quiet and calm. But this was the day on which the waiters of the Homestead House had chosen to go out on strike for an increase of wages which Mrs. Pell was not empowered to give them. They threw down their aprons just before the dinner hour at one o’clock. “Never mind, mother,” said Roy. “Rex and I will pitch in and help.” And they did, they and Eva and Jess. Rex was just carrying a tray of dishes into the pantry when he heard a louder voice than usual coming from one of the tables. He looked around. He saw Jess, flushed to her hair, standing behind a young man who had come in with one of the regular guests, and whom he had not noticed before. “Come now, I’ll give you a nice tip if you’ll do it for me,” Rex heard the fellow say. He thought he recognized the voice. He put his tray down and hurried to his sister’s side. She had started to walk away, but the man had caught her by the dress and held her fast. “He wants me to go to the saloon across the street and bring him a bottle of beer,” said Jess. Rex stooped quickly and disengaged the fellow’s hand with no gentle touch. In doing so he looked him straight in the face. It was Ashby Stout. “Great Scott, it’s little Pell,” exclaimed Stout. Then he added quickly: “Look here, youngster, what right have you to send that girl away from here?” “A brother’s right,” replied Rex promptly. “Whew!” whistled Stout under his breath, and he turned to Driscoll, the friend with whom he had come in. “Say, Sammy,” he whispered, “what position does this chap hold in the place?” “He’s the manager’s son,” was the reply. Having accomplished his purpose Rex went on, took up his tray and carried it into the pantry. His eyes still flashed from anger. “Jess,” he said, going up to his sister, “you must not go into that dining room again.” “But I’ll have to,” she replied, “I’ve got lots of orders to fill.” “Never mind. I’ll attend to yours and mine, too. I’m not going to have that ruffian ogling you, I know who he is.” “You do? Who is he?” “Never mind. It is enough that I know everything bad about him and nothing good. Give me your orders.” And Jess complied. Of course this compelled Rex to wait on Stout. But he gritted his teeth and went through with the process in dignified silence, taking no notice of the attempt Stout made to draw him into conversation. When dinner was over and Rex was back in his place behind the desk, making up accounts, Stout strolled in, a cigarette between his lips.