"I can't go," complained Dunstan moodily, "got a quizz coming at eight-thirty, the infernal Latin rooster. I'd like to choke him." "Cut it out, cut it out!" came a chorus of stern voices.... "Say, Dunce, what's the matter with yah, gettin' queer? Hey? They only put Latin in the cirickulum to please the wives of the trustees. Yah! cut it out, man--say, if yuh don't have any fun, you'll go batty; the doctors all say so. Sure they do! Everybody does go batty that's high-brow and studies and all that drool. Say, cut it out, whoop it up if yuh want to keep from suicide. By heck! you'll do sumpin desperate if you keep up with this Latin, like that feller your old man is going to put in the Can. How about that trial; when is it coming off?" "Chuck that," muttered Dunstan, a grave significant look in the direction of the house--"Governor is inside. Sard's coming out----" "Sard's coming out," they chanted gibingly. "Oh, the Mermaid Lady came out, you bet, She was not fully dressed: The pretty curls of her hair were wet I leave you to guess the rest." This gem started by the young chap with the new car was taken up and chanted by his associates, all beating time and clapping in imitation of negro minstrels. It was done by way of changing an unwelcome subject and Sard, appearing at the door, put her finger on her lips. "If you want to sing," she said laughingly, "you'll have to go in swimming or something; Father's in his den and I'm sworn to keep things quiet." "Getting up the data for the great day?" asked one boy saucily. Sard shook her head at him, but Minga giggled. "Wouldn't it be fun to go right in now, stand in a row in front of Judgie and say, 'We, the under-signed, beg for the freedom of Terence O'Brien, given into our hands,' you know the way they used to do in--in Bret Harte and places," finished Minga a little vaguely. "Get him out from under the law." The group brightened; here was something to do, something unusual and racy and like the movies; they saw the drama of it. "You'd have to have a writ of habeas corpus," said one young fellow. He wore large round glasses and looked solemn. "Who's his counsel?" he demanded of Sard, professionally. She gave the name of a village lawyer--"I'm afraid it's only a form, though poor Dora's wages go for it, for I--I don't believe there is much defense," Sard bent her brows. "It's all wrong, you know; one of us would have the best counsel money could buy; if our own families couldn't afford it, some rich relative would come forward to save the name." "That's right, she's dead right." The young faces ranged along the terrace wall looked solemnly on Sard; from trifling, aimless pleasure-seekers they became suddenly sober, filled with the sense of human tragedy of inequality and unfairness. "Well, then, come on." Minga stood on audacious toes; she bowed like a preening butterfly. "Who'll follow? I'll lead!"