ll."

A desk stood by the window from which the editorial eye in its frenzied
rollings enjoyed a fine sweep of Main Street. To Phil Main Street ran
round the world. Its variety was infinite. No one knew the ways, the
interests, the joys and sorrows of Montgomery better than she. Every one
was, in a sense, a character. More or less unconsciously she fitted them
all into little dramas, or sketched them with swift, telling strokes.
The fact that this Main Street summarized American life; that there were
hundreds of Main Streets presenting much the same types, the same mild
encounters and incidents, appealed to her sense of humor. Her longest
journey in the world had been a summer excursion to New England with her
father, and she had been struck by the similarity of the phenomena
observable in Williamstown, Pittsfield, Northampton--and Montgomery! In
every town, no matter what its name, there was always the same sleepy
team in front of the Farmers' Bank, the same boy chasing his hat, the
same hack-driver in front of the hotel, the same pretty girl bowing to
the same delighted young man near the same town pump or the soldiers'
monument in the square.

Phil wrote busily. It was easy for her to write, and when, looking up
casually, items were suggested to her by the passers-by, she returned to
her work with a smile on her face. Judge Walters passed carrying a
satchel; this meant that he had returned from holding court in Boone
County; Captain Wilson stumped by with a strange young man who Phil
reasoned immediately must be the nephew he had expected to visit him
during the holidays. The new auto-truck of the express company, which
had long been forecast in Main Street rumor, rumbled by, and she
heralded its arrival in a crisp paragraph. "Spress," the venerable dog
that for ages had followed the company's old horse and wagon, was at
last out of commission, Phil's "brevity" recited. The foreman came in
from the composing-room, told her gravely that the paper was overset,
and departed with her copy.

She took up the article relating to Sycamore Traction and read it
through to the end. Many of the terms meant nothing to her; but the
guarded intimations of improper conduct on the part of the promoters and
directors were sufficiently clear. What interested her most of all was
the accusation, cautiously attributed "to one in a position to know,"
that the estate of Samuel Holton had been so manipulated as to conceal
part of the asse