xcels the noble avenue down which Walter Sedger tooled his team of
browns.

"It is a pleasure to live on such a day, with four such horses to drive
behind, isn't it, Mr. Grahame?" asked Florence, as the coach rolled past
the Auditorium, and the team settled down to their work.

"I am surprised you think so," answered Duncan, with a bantering
expression in his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because I don't see how you reconcile so Anglican an institution as a
drag with your patriotic sentiments."

"You forget that George Washington hunted, and had his clothes made in
London."

"Then I am to infer that the highest type of patriot is he who rides to
hounds and gets his coats on Hanover or Conduit Street."

"You are to infer that the highest type of patriot is not he who
blusters sectional prejudice from under the shade of a slouch hat, but
he who is sufficiently liberal to combine foreign excellencies with
native virtues."

"You have a flow of expression which would do credit to a campaign
orator," laughed Duncan. "For my part I don't believe in patriotism, at
least in the sentimental sense of the word. Patriotism is a compound of
pride and jealousy. Eliminate these two factors, to use an algebraic
expression, and nothing remains."

"I fear we shall never agree on such questions," said Florence, anxious
not to enter into a useless argument with Duncan.

"Perhaps, after all, it is my fault," answered Duncan with an expression
of sadness in his eyes which seemed strange to Florence. "I wish I might
believe in noble sentiment, but a man who has had his wings clipped in
Wall Street is not the chap for sentiment."

"Perhaps you will change your mind one day," answered Florence.

"It would only take one example of true sentiment to convert me," said
Duncan gravely. "Well," he added, after a moment, "there may be rough
spots in a worldly life, but there is no dullness, and, after all, that
is what most of us try to avoid. While the sparkle lasts life is sweet,
but when it is gone one might as well give up the fight."

Mrs. Smith of Cincinnati interrupted them by asking Florence if she knew
what the large, brick building on the left was.

"That is the Calumet Club," Florence answered, and then they subsided,
for a moment, into silence.

Approaching Grand Boulevard the crowd of vehicles became denser, and the
coaching party found much to amuse them. Sedger pointed his leaders
around the corner of Thirty-fifth Street, and the co