ad so effectually entombed his ambitions, and taken the
veil, so to speak, in a sonnery, he was surprised to discover how
much lighter of heart and happier he felt. He realized what a long,
restless struggle he had maintained, and how much he had lost by
failing to cull the simple but wholesome pleasures by the way. His
heart warmed now to Elmville and the friends who had refused to
set him upon a pedestal. It was better, he began to think, to be
"Billy" and his father's son, and to be hailed familiarly by cheery
neighbours and grown-up playmates, than to be "Your Honour," and sit
among strangers, hearing, maybe, through the arguments of learned
counsel, that old man's feeble voice crying: "What would I do
without you, my son?"

Billy began to surprise his acquaintances by whistling as he walked
up the street; others he astounded by slapping them disrespectfully
upon their backs and raking up old anecdotes he had not had the time
to recollect for years. Though he hammered away at his law cases
as thoroughly as ever, he found more time for relaxation and the
company of his friends. Some of the younger set were actually after
him to join the golf club. A striking proof of his abandonment to
obscurity was his adoption of a most undignified, rakish, little
soft hat, reserving the "plug" for Sundays and state occasions.
Billy was beginning to enjoy Elmville, though that irreverent burgh
had neglected to crown him with bay and myrtle.

All the while uneventful peace pervaded Elmville. The Governor
continued to make his triumphal parades to the post-office with the
General as chief marshal, for the slight squall that had rippled
their friendship had, to all indications, been forgotten by both.

But one day Elmville woke to sudden excitement. The news had come
that a touring presidential party would honour Elmville by a
twenty-minute stop. The Executive had promised a five-minute address
from the balcony of the Palace Hotel.

Elmville arose as one man--that man being, of course, General
Deffenbaugh--to receive becomingly the chieftain of all the clans.
The train with the tiny Stars and Stripes fluttering from the
engine pilot arrived. Elmville had done her best. There were bands,
flowers, carriages, uniforms, banners, and committees without end.
High-school girls in white frocks impeded the steps of the party
with roses strewn nervously in bunches. The chieftain had seen it
all before--scores of times. He could have pictur