led in one strong fusion of raw food product. Horatio
smiled at the question and hurried at a faster pace, while Milly,
raising her skirts, had to scuttle over the "skids" that lay across the
sidewalk like traps for the unwary.

"I've an errand down here," he said slyly. "Guess it won't hurt you to
take a little walk."

His air was provocative, and Milly followed him breathlessly, her blue
eyes wide with wonder. He stopped opposite a low brick building at the
end of Market Street, and pointed dramatically across. At first Milly
saw nothing to demand attention, then her quick eyes detected the blazon
of a new gilt sign above the second-story windows, which read:--

H. RIDGE & CO., IMPORTERS
TEAS AND COFFEES

Horatio broke into an excited grin, as Milly grasped his arm.

"Oh, papa--is it _you_?"

"It's _me_ all right!" And he flung out a leg with a strut of
proprietorship. "Opened last week. Want to see the inside?"

"And Hoppers'?" Milly inquired as they crossed the muddy street, dodging
the procession of drays.

"Hoppers'--I just chucked it," Horatio swaggered. "Guess I'm old enough
to work for myself if I'm ever going to--no money in working for the
other feller."

When they had climbed the narrow, dark stairway to the second floor,
Horatio flung open the door to the low, unpartitioned room that ran
clear to the rear of the building. A man rose from behind the solitary
desk near the front window.

"Let me introduce you to the Company," Horatio announced with gravity.
"Mr. Snowden, my daughter!"

They laughed, and Milly detected an air of embarrassment as the man came
forward. In the clear light of the window his hair and mustache seemed
blacker than she remembered; she suspected that they had been dyed. As
Milly shook hands with the "Company," she had her first moment of doubt
about the enterprise.

"My daughter, Miss Simpson," and Milly was shaking hands with a quiet,
homely little woman in spectacles, who might have been twenty-five or
fifty, and who gave Milly a keen, suspicious, commercial look. She was
evidently all that was left of the "company,"--bookkeeper, stenographer,
clerk.

Beside the desk there was a large round table with some unwashed cups
and saucers, a coffee boiler, and in the rear sample cases and
bundles,--presumably the results of importations. Milly admired
everything generously. She was bothered by discovering Snowden as "the
company" and considered whether she ought to