to go easy, all along the line."

"Oh, I'll go easy enough," Mr. Plimpton assented, smiling. "Do you
remember how I pulled off old Senator Matthews when everybody swore he
was dead set on voting for an investigation in the matter of those coal
lands Mr. Parr got hold of in his state?"

"Matthews isn't Hodder, by a long shat," said Langmaid. "If you ask me
my opinion, I'll tell you frankly that if Hodder has made up his mind
to stay in St. John's a ton of dynamite and all the Eldon Parrs in the
nation can't get him out."

"Can't the vestry make him resign?" asked Mr. Plimpton, uncomfortably.

"You'd better, go home and study your canons, my friend. Nothing short
of conviction for heresy can do it, if he doesn't want to go."

"You wouldn't exactly call him a heretic," Mr. Plimpton said ruefully.

"Would you know a heretic if you saw one?" demanded Langmaid.

"No, but my wife would, and Gordon Atterbury and Constable would, and
Eldon Parr. But don't let's get nervous."

"Well, that's sensible at any rate," said Langmaid....

So Mr. Plimpton had gone off optimistic, and felt even more so the next
morning after he had had his breakfast in the pleasant dining room of
the Gore Mansion, of which he was now master. As he looked out through
the open window at the sunshine in the foliage of Waverley Place,
the prospect of his being removed from that position of dignity and
influence on the vestry of St. John's, which he had achieved, with
others, after so much walking around the walls, seemed remote. And he
reflected with satisfaction upon the fact that his wife, who was his
prime minister, would be home from the East that day. Two heads were
better than one, especially if one of the two were Charlotte Gore's.
And Mr. Plimpton had often reflected upon the loss to the world, and the
gain to himself, that she was a woman.

It would not be gallant to suggest that his swans were geese.

IV

The successful navigation of lower Tower Street, at noonday, required
presence of mind on the part of the pedestrian. There were currents and
counter-currents, eddies and backwaters, and at the corner of Vine a
veritable maelstrom through which two lines of electric cars pushed
their way, east and weft, north and south, with incessant clanging
of bells; followed by automobiles with resounding horns, trucks and
delivery wagons with wheels reverberating on the granite. A giant Irish
policeman, who seemed in continual danger of a viol