e line, a maker of cheap stuff
which was shipped in solid trains of carload lots from a factory that
covered several acres. The other men he noticed around the place
seemed to be of about the same stamp. He had never been anywhere that
the men averaged so well.

As he went down-stairs, McComas introduced his wife, already gowned for
the evening. She was a handsome woman, of the sort who would wear a
different stunning gown every night for two weeks and then go on to the
next place. Well, she had a right to this extravagance. Besides it is
good for a man's business to have his wife dressed prosperously. A man
who is getting on in the world ought to have a handsome wife. If she
is the right kind, of Miss Stevens' type, say, she is a distinct asset.

After dinner, Miss Westlake and Miss Hastings waylaid him on the porch.

[Illustration: They waylaid him on the porch]

"I suppose, of course, you are going to take part in the bowling
tournament to-night," suggested Miss Westlake with the engaging
directness allowable to family friendship.

"I suppose so, although I didn't know there was one. Where is it to be
held?"

"Oh, just down the other side of the brook, beyond the croquet grounds.
We have a tournament every week, and a prize cup for the best score in
the season. It's lots of fun. Do you bowl?"

"Not very much," Mr. Turner confessed; "but if you'll just keep me
posted on all these various forms of recreation, you may count on my
taking a prominent share in them."

"All right," agreed Miss Hastings, very vivaciously taking the
conversation away from Miss Westlake. "We'll constitute ourselves a
committee of two to lay out a program for you."

"Fine," he responded, bending on the fragile Miss Hastings a smile so
pleasant that it made her instantly determine to find out something
about his family and commercial standing. "What time do we start on
our mad bowling career?"

"They'll be drifting over in about a half-hour," Miss Westlake told
him, with a speculative sidelong glance at her dearest girl friend.
"Everybody starts out for a stroll in some other direction, as if
bowling was the least of their thoughts, but they all wind up at the
alleys. I'll show you." A slight young man of the white-trousered
faction, as distinguished from the dinner-coat crowd, passed them just
then. "Oh, Billy," called Miss Westlake, and introduced the slight
young man, who proved to be her brother, to Mr. Turner, at