and it was never hard to get guests. He could always motor
up to Washington and New York, and bring a crowd back with him. His
cellars were well stocked, and his hospitality undiscriminating.

"I don't know the girl," he told Dalton, "but the old man is Judge
Bannister. He's one of the natives--no money and oodles of pride."

In calling Judge Bannister a "native," Oscar showed a lack of
proportion. A native, in the sense that he used the word, is a South
Sea Islander, indigenous but negligible. Oscar was fooled, you see, by
the Judge's old-fashioned clothes, and the high surrey, and the horses
with the flowing tails. His ideas of life had to do with motor cars
and mansions, and with everybody very much dressed up. He felt that
the only thing in the world that really counted was money. If you had
enough of it the world was yours!

II

Year after year the Bannisters of Huntersfield had eaten their Horse
Show luncheon under a clump of old oaks beneath which the horses now
stopped. The big trees were dropping golden leaves in the dryness.
From the rise of the hill one looked down on the grandstand and the
crowd as from the seats of an amphitheater.

Judge Bannister remembered when the women of the crowd had worn hoops
and waterfalls. Aunt Claudia's memory went back to bustles and
bonnets. There were deeper memories, too, than of clothes--of old
friends and young faces--there was always a moment of pensive
retrospect when the Bannisters stopped under the old oak on the hill.

Randolph Paine, his mother and Major Prime were to join them at
luncheon. Separate plans had been made by the boarders who had packed
themselves into various cars and carriages, and had their own boxes and
baskets.

"Caroline Paine is always late," the Judge said with some impatience;
"if we don't eat on time, we shall have to hurry. I have never hurried
in my life and I don't want to begin now."

Claudia Beaufort was accustomed to impatience in men, and she was
inflexible as a hostess. "Well, of course, we couldn't begin without
them, could we?" she asked. "There they come now, Father. William,
you'd better help Major Prime."

Randy was driving the fat mare, Rosalind. Nellie Custis, Randolph's
wiry hound, loped along with flapping ears in the rear of the
low-seated carriage. Major Prime was on the back seat with Mrs. Paine.

"My dear Judge," he said, as the old gentleman came to the side of the
carriage, "I can't tell yo