nders in the appearance of the gawky,
long-limbed woman. A session with a hair-dresser had not been wasted,
for she had learned to dress her hair in the prevailing mode. Symes had
lost no time in rushing her to an establishment where the brown cashmere
basque and many gored skirt had been exchanged for a gown of fashionable
cut. A pair of French stays developed indications of a figure and the
concho-like broach had been discarded, while Augusta herself had learned
that black silk mitts had not been greatly in vogue for nearly a quarter
of a century. The conspicuous marvel which had displayed the skill of
the clairvoyant milliner from South Dakota had been replaced by a hat of
good lines and simplicity, and, for the first time in her life, Augusta
Kunkel rustled when she walked.

When the transformation was complete, Andy P. Symes sighed in a little
more than relief, and mentally observed that in the course of human
events he _might_ be able to introduce her to his family.

Nor was Symes himself idle in a land where Capital hung like an
over-ripe peach waiting to be plucked by the proper hand. Mr. Symes was
convinced that his was the hand, so he lost no opportunity of widening
his circle of desirable acquaintances.

In his wide-brimmed Stetson, with his broad shoulders towering above the
average man, his genial smile and jovial manners, he was the typical
free, big-hearted westerner of the eastern imagination. And he liked the
role; also he played it well. Symes was essentially a poseur. He loved
the limelight like a showman. To be foremost, to lead, was essential to
his happiness. He demanded satellites and more satellites. His love of
prominence amounted to a passion. Sycophancy was as acceptable as real
regard, since each catered to his vanity.

It required money, much money, to live up to the popular conception of
the type he chose to represent. To successfully carry out his role of
the breezy, liberal, unconventional westerner required money enough to
include the cabman on the pavement in his invitations to drink, money
enough to donate bank notes to bellboys, to wave change to waiters, to
occupy boxes where he could lay his conspicuous Stetson upon the rail.
Having indulged himself in these delightful extravagances, Symes was
suddenly recalled one morning to a realization of the fact that earthly
paradises end by a curt notification from his bank that he had overdrawn
his account.

This was awkward. It was par