ulate him, and
from that moment, despite the rain, every friend in Newport seemed to
feel it a bounden duty to do the same, and to stay the longer because of
the rain. Peter wished he had set the time for the Convention two days
earlier or two days later.

"I hope you won't ask any of these people to luncheon," Peter said in an
aside to Mrs. D'Alloi.

"Why?" he was asked.

Peter looked puzzled, and finally said weakly, "I--I have a good deal to
do."

And then as proper punishment for his misdemeanor, the footman
announced Dorothy and Miss Biddle, Ray and Ogden. Dorothy sailed into
the room with the announcement:

"We've all come to luncheon if we are asked."

"Oh, Peter," said Ray, when they were seated at the table. "Have you
seen this morning's 'Voice of Labor?' No? Good gracious, they've raked
up that old verse in Watts's class-song and print it as proof that you
were a drunkard in your college days. Here it is. Set to music and
headed 'Saloon Pete.'"

"Look here, Ray, we must write to the 'Voice' and tell them the truth,"
said Watts.

"Never write to the paper that tells the lie," said Peter, laughing.
"Always write to the one that doesn't. Then it will go for the other
paper. But I wouldn't take the trouble in this case. The opposition
would merely say that: 'Of course Mr. Stirling's intimate friends are
bound to give such a construction to the song, and the attempt does them
credit.'"

"But why don't you deny it, Peter?" asked Leonore anxiously. "It's awful
to think of people saying you are a drunkard!"

"If I denied the untruths told of me I should have my hands full. Nobody
believes such things, except the people who are ready to believe them.
They wouldn't believe otherwise, no matter what I said. If you think a
man is a scoundrel, you are not going to believe his word."

"But, Peter," said Mrs. D'Alloi, "you ought to deny them for the future.
After you and your friends are dead, people will go back to the
newspapers, and see what they said about you, and then will misjudge
you."

"I am not afraid of that. I shall hardly be of enough account to figure
in history, or if I become so, such attacks will not hurt me. Why,
Washington was charged by the papers of his day, with being a murderer,
a traitor, and a tyrant. And Lincoln was vilified to an extent which
seems impossible now. The greater the man, the greater the abuse."

"Why do the papers call you 'Pete'?" asked Leonore, anxiously. "I rather