n for high prices, the cause
of agricultural and industrial distress, the inert, sodden,
fermenting, indigestible mass in the belly of the body-politic!

"The American hired man! If the country doesn't spew him up, he'll
kill it!

"Perhaps you've heard me before on this subject, Garret. I'm
likely to air my views, you know.

"Well, my son, I look forward to your arrival. I am glad that
Westmore is coming with you. As for your other guests, they are
welcome, of course.

"Your father,

"REGINALD BARRES."

He laughed; this letter so perfectly revealed his father.

"Dad and his trout and his birds and his pines and his eternally
accursed hired help," he said to himself, "Dad and his monocle and his
immaculate attire--the finest man who ever fussed!" And he laughed
tenderly to himself as he broke the seal of his sister's brief note:

"Garry dear, I've been so busy schooling horses and dancing that
I've had no time for letter writing. So glad you're coming at
last. Bring along any good novels you see. My best to Jim. Your
guests can be well mounted, if they ride. Father is wild because
there are more foxes than usual, but he's promised not to treat
them as vermin, and the Northbrook pack is to hunt our territory
this season, after all. Poor Dad! He is a brick, isn't he?"

"Affectionately,

"LEE."

Barres pocketed his sheaf of letters and began to stroll about the
studio, whistling the air of some recent musical atrocity.

Westmore, in his own room, composing verses--a secret vice unsuspected
by Barres--bade him "Shut up!"--the whistling no doubt ruining his
metre.

But Barres, with politest intentions, forgot himself so many times
that the other man locked up his "Lines to Thessalie when she was
sewing on a button for me," and came into the studio.

"Where is she?" he inquired naively.

"Where's who?" demanded Barres, still sensitive over the increasing
intimacy of this headlong young man and Thessalie Dunois.

"Thessa."

"In there fussing with Dulcie's togs. Go ahead in, if you care to."

"Is your stuff packed up?"

Barres nodded:

"Is yours?"

"Most of it. How many trunks is Thessa taking?"

"How do I know?" said Barres, with a trace of irritation. "She's at
liberty to take as many as she likes."

Westmore didn't notice the irritation; his mind was entirely occupied
by Thessalie--an intellectual condition which had recently become
rather painfully appa