d papers, and accentuated by an attempted
perusal of them. They were a little too stolid for a hot day, so
Stranleigh turned to the lighter entertainment of the American humorous
press.

Presently there entered this hall of silence the stout figure of Mr.
John L. Banks, senior attorney for the Ice Trust, a man well known to
Stranleigh, who had often sought his advice, with profit to both of
them. The lawyer approached the lounger.

"Hello, Banks, I was just thinking of you, reflecting how delightful it
must be in this weather to be connected, even remotely, with the ice
supply of New York."

Mr. Banks's panama hat was in one hand, while the other drew a
handkerchief across his perspiring brow.

"Well, Stranleigh, you're looking very cool and collected. Enacting the
part of the idle rich, I suppose?"

"No, I'm a specimen of labour unrest."

"Perhaps I can appease that. I'm open to a deal at fair compensation for
you. If you will simply parade the streets in that leisurely fashion we
all admire, bearing a placard 'Pure Ice Company,' I'll guarantee you a
living wage and an eight hours' day."

"Should I be required to carry about crystal blocks of the product?"

"No; you're frigid enough as it is. Besides, ice at the present moment
is too scarce to be expended on even so important a matter as
advertisement."

Banks wheeled forward an arm chair, and sat down opposite his lordship.
A useful feature of a panama hat is its flexibility. You may roll one
brim to fit the hand, and use the other as a fan, and this Banks did
with the perfection of practice.

"What's the cause of the unrest, Stranleigh?"

"Thinking. That's the cause of unrest all the world over. Whenever
people begin to think, there is trouble."

"I've never noticed any undue thoughtfulness in you, Stranleigh."

"That's just it. Thinking doesn't agree with me, and as you hint, I
rarely indulge in it, but this is a land that somehow stimulates
thought, and thought compels action. Action is all very well in
moderation, but in these United States of yours it is developed into
a fever, or frenzy rather, curable only by a breakdown or death."

"Do you think it's as bad as all that?"

"Yes, I do. You call it enterprise; I call it greed. I've never yet met
an American who knew when he'd had enough."

"Did you ever meet an Englishman who knew that?"

"Thousands of them."

Banks laughed.

"I imagine," he said, "it's all a matter of nomenclature. You t