cided to emphasize further his return to Crowheart by
issuing invitations for a dinner to be given in the Terriberry House,
reserving the announcement of his future plans for this occasion; and,
although Crowheart did not realize it at the time, this dinner was an
epoch-making function. It was not until the printed invitations worded
with such elegance by Sylvanus Starr were issued, that Crowheart dimly
suspected there were sheep and goats, and this was the initial step
toward separating them.

The making up of a social list in any frontier town is not without its
puzzling features and Mr. Symes in this instance found it particularly
difficult once he began to discriminate.

First there came the awkward question of his relatives by marriage. At
first glance it would have seemed rather necessary to head the list with
Grandmother Kunkel, but the fact that she was also the hotel laundress
at the time made it a subject for debate. Once, just once, he was
willing to test the social possibilities of his brother-in-law, so Symes
magnanimously gave him his chance and the name of Adolph Kunkel headed
the list.

The Percy Parrotts, of course, went through the sieve, and the Starrs,
and Dr. Emma Harpe, but there was the embarrassing question of Mrs. Alva
Jackson who had but lately sold her dance hall, goodwill, and fixtures,
to marry Alva Jackson, a prosperous cattleman--too prosperous, Mr. Symes
finally decided, to ignore. Would the presence of the sprightly Faro
Nell give a touch of piquancy to the occasion or lower its tone? Could
rich, old Edouard Dubois be induced to change his shirt if invited? The
clairvoyant milliner was barred owing to the fact that she was "in
trade," but "Tinhorn Frank," who no longer sat drunk and collarless in
his dirt-floored saloon fumbling a deck of cards thick with grime, went
down upon the list as "Mr. Rhodes," the citizens of Crowheart learning
his name for the first time when it appeared on the sign above the door
of his new real estate office.

When the difficult undertaking was complete Mrs. Symes looked over his
shoulder and read the list.

"You haven't Essie Tisdale's name."

Mr. Symes laughed good-humoredly--

"Oh, she'll be there; she'll wait on the table."

"You don't mean to ask Essie Tisdale?" Mrs. Symes's eyes opened.

Symes shook his head.

"That seems awfully mean," insisted Mrs. Symes in feeble protest; "she's
always been so nice to me at dances and things."

"My dear