and the storms. Of course you must write
a book."

Mr. Duncan quoted other letters, and William Wetherell thrilled. Poor
man! he had had little enough incense in his time, and none at all from
the great. They came to the big square house with the cornice which
Cynthia had seen the day before, and walked across the lawn through the
open door. William Wetherell had a glimpse of a great drawing-room with
high windows, out of which was wafted the sound of a piano and of
youthful voice and laughter, and then he was in the library. The thought
of one man owning all those books overpowered him. There they were, in
stately rows, from the floor to the high ceiling, and a portable ladder
with which to reach them.

Mr. Duncan, understanding perhaps something of the storekeeper's
embarrassment, proceeded to take down his treasures: first editions from
the shelves, and folios and mistrals from drawers in a great iron safe in
one corner and laid them on the mahogany desk. It was the railroad
president's hobby, and could he find an appreciative guest, he was happy.
It need scarcely be said that he found William Wetherell appreciative,
and possessed of knowledge of Shaksperiana and other matters that
astonished his host as well as pleased him. For Wetherell had found his
tongue at last.

After a while Mr. Duncan drew out his watch and gave a start.

"By George!" he exclaimed, "it's after eight o'clock. I'll have to ask
you to excuse me to-night, Mr. Wetherell. I'd like to show you the rest
of them--can't you come around to-morrow afternoon?"

Mr. Wetherell, who had forgotten his own engagement and "Uncle Tom's
Cabin," said he would be happy to come. And they went out together and
began to walk toward the State House.

"It isn't often I find a man who knows anything at all about these
things," continued Mr. Duncan, whose heart was quite won. "Why do you
bury yourself in Coniston?"

"I went there from Briton for my health," said the storekeeper.

"Jethro Bass lives there, doesn't he" said Mr. Duncan, with a laugh. But
I suppose you don't know anything about politics."

"I know nothing at all," said Mr. Wetherell, which was quite true. He had
been in dreamland, but now the fact struck him again, with something of a
shock, that this mild-mannered gentleman was one of those who had been
paying certain legislators to remain in their seats. Wetherell thought of
speaking to Mr. Duncan of his friendship with Jethro Bass, but the
occ