wanted a place in which he might find occasional seasons
of peace and quiet. When Mrs. Gray protested against this useless bit
of extravagance, his grief was so obviously genuine that her heart was
touched, and there was a deep, fervent joy in her soul. She loved this
fair-faced boy, and tears of happiness came to her eyes when she was
given this new proof of his loyalty and devotion. His rooms were kept
for him just as if he had expected to occupy them every day and every
night, notwithstanding the luxurious apartments he was to maintain
elsewhere. The Oliver Optic books still lay in the attic, all tattered
and torn, but to Margaret the embodiment of prospective riches,
promises of sweet hours to come. She knew Monty well enough to feel
that he would not forget the dark little attic of old for all the
splendors that might come with the new dispensation.

There was no little surprise when he sent out invitations for a large
dinner. His grandfather had been dead less than a month, and society
was somewhat scandalized by the plain symptoms of disrespect he was
showing. No one had expected him to observe a prolonged season of
mourning, but that he should disregard the formalities completely was
rather shocking. Some of the older people, who had not long to live and
who had heirs-apparent, openly denounced his heartlessness. It was not
very gratifying to think of what might be in store for them if all
memories were as short as Brewster's. Old Mrs. Ketchell changed her
will, and two nephews were cut off entirely; a very modest and
impecunious grandson of Joseph Garrity also was to sustain a severe
change of fortune in the near future, if the cards spoke correctly.
Judge Van Woort, who was not expected to live through the night, got
better immediately after hearing some one in the sick-room whisper that
Montgomery Brewster was to give a big dinner. Naturally, the
heirs-to-be condemned young Brewster in no uncertain terms.

Nevertheless, the dinner to be given by the grandson of old Edwin Peter
Brewster was the talk of the town, and not one of the sixty invited
guests could have been persuaded to miss it. Reports as to its
magnificence were abroad long before the night set for the dinner. One
of them had it that it was to cost $3,000 a plate. From that figure the
legendary price receded to a mark as low as $500. Montgomery would have
been only too glad to pay $3,000 or more, but some mysterious force
conveyed to his mind a pe