orld."

"Gee!" exclaimed the younger boy in delight. "You're a buster, Joe, and
no mistake. The president himself couldn't have rolled that sentence off
better, or that old piece of pomposity who conies to the secret meetings
with the gold-headed cane."

"That's Judge Hildreth. He's another deep one or I lose my guess."

"Why, he's a No. I deacon in one of the uptown's swellest churches!"

"Guess he's a child of darkness in between times then, for I'll bet he
does lots of underground work. I don't believe in this awfully private
business. The other day, after old man Hildreth came, before the
directors had their meeting, (he always does come just before that, to
prime Peters, you know,) what did he do but make Peters send for me to
shut the transoms over his office doors, so that none of us fellows
outside could hear what they were saying!

"I tell you I don't like the looks of things. This morning one of those
heavy stockholders came in and wanted to take out all his money, and the
president went white as a sheet. There's a flaw in the ready money
account somewhere, I'll bet, and I'm going to leave before the bottom
drops out of the concern. If you take my advice you'll follow."

The other boy laughed. "Bet your life I won't, then. Where'd you get
such good pay, I'd like to know? I've had enough of grubbing along on
$4.00 a week. No, sirree, I'll keep in tow with the deacon and get my
share of all the stuff that's going, same as the other fellows do."

"You won't do it long then, you mark my words. Did you see the president
when he came into the office this morning? He looked as if he'd been
gagged. I went into his office for something in a hurry afterwards and
he was head over ears in Railway Time Tables. He jumped as if he'd been
caught poaching. It's my belief he means to skip across the border. It's
the only way for him to get out of the mess, unless he takes a dose of
lead, you see.

"Well, here goes. I'm going to write my resignation with the president's
best gold pen. You can do as you like, but it's slow and honest for me."

CHAPTER XIX.

Miss Diana Chillingworth was sitting in the old-fashioned porch of her
old-fashioned house which opened into an old-fashioned garden in one of
the suburbs of Marlborough, shelling peas. Everything about Miss Diana
was old-fashioned and sweet. Her hair was dressed as she had been
accustomed to wear it in her girlhood, and even the head mantua-maker of
Marlborou