h."

_Thirteen_

MRS. GREY GIVES A DINNER

The Hon. Charles Smith, Miss Sarah's brother, was walking swiftly uptown
from Mr. Easterly's Wall Street office and his face was pale. At last
the Cotton Combine was to all appearances an assured fact and he was
slated for the Senate. The price he had paid was high: he was to
represent the interests of the new trust and sundry favorable measures
were already drafted and reposing in the safe of the combine's legal
department. Among others was one relating to child labor, another that
would effect certain changes in the tariff, and a proposed law providing
for a cotton bale of a shape and dimensions different from the
customary--the last constituting a particularly clever artifice which,
under the guise of convenience in handling, would necessitate the
installation of entirely new gin and compress machinery, to be supplied,
of course, by the trust.

As Mr. Smith drew near Mrs. Grey's Murray Hill residence his face had
melted to a cynical smile. After all why should he care? He had tried
independence and philanthropy and failed. Why should he not be as other
men? He had seen many others that very day swallow the golden bait and
promise everything. They were gentlemen. Why should he pose as better
than his fellows? There was young Cresswell. Did his aristocratic air
prevent his succumbing to the lure of millions and promising the
influence of his father and the whole Farmer's League to the new
project? Mr. Smith snapped his fingers and rang the bell. The door
opened softly. The dark woodwork of the old English wainscoting glowed
with the crimson flaming of logs in the wide fireplace. There was just
the touch of early autumn chill in the air without, that made both the
fire and the table with its soft linen, gold and silver plate, and
twinkling glasses a warming, satisfying sight.

Mrs. Grey was a portly woman, inclined to think much of her dinner and
her clothes, both of which were always rich and costly. She was not
herself a notably intelligent woman; she greatly admired intelligence or
whatever looked to her like intelligence in others. Her money, too, was
to her an ever worrying mystery and surprise, which she found herself
always scheming to husband shrewdly and spend philanthropically--a
difficult combination.

As she awaited her guests she surveyed the table with both satisfaction
and disquietude, for her social functions were few, tonight there
were--she che