her a crude youth, I suppose. But in order to carry out the
terms of Gordon's will we must do some kind and generous act for these
people. This seems to be our only chance. Now here is my plan."

And he's comin' on, J. Bayard is! He proposes that we use our combined
pull with Mr. Twombley-Crane to land Royce--for one consecutive night,
anyway--plunk in the middle of the younger set. He's leased a nice
furnished cottage from one of the Meadowbrook bunch, not more'n a mile
from the Twombley-Crane estate, got the promise of havin' the
youngster's name put up at the Hunt Club for the summer privileges, and
has arranged to have mother and son move in right in the height of the
season.

"In time for the Twombley-Cranes' big costume ball?" I suggests.

"Nothing less," says he. "And if we could manage to have them invited to
that--well, what more could a fond parent ask?"

"H-m-m-m!" says I, rubbin' my chin. "Might get ourselves disliked if we
sprung a ringer on 'em that way. Course, if this Royce boy could be
trained to pull a broad A now and then, and be drilled into doin' a
maxixe that would pass, I might take a chance. Mrs. McCabe could get
their names on the guest list, all right. But I'd have to have a peek at
Sonny first."

You see, with an ex-waitress mother, and a Hungry Jim for a father,
Royce might be too tough for anything but a Coney Island spiel-fest. In
that case J. Bayard would have to dig up a new scheme. So we starts out
to look 'em up.

Accordin' to schedule we should have found 'em both waitin' for us at
the lawyer's, sittin' side by side and lookin' scared. But the boy that
shows us into the reception room says how Mrs. Hammond is in the private
office with the boss, and it looks like Sonny was late.

"I'll tell you," says I to J. Bayard. "You push in and interview Mother,
while I stick around out here and wait for the other half of the
sketch."

He agrees to that, and has disappeared behind the ground-glass door when
I discovers this slick-haired young gent sittin' at a desk over by the
window,--a buddin' law clerk, most likely. And by way of bein' sociable
I remarks casual that I hear how McGraw is puttin' Tesreau on the mound
again to-day against the Cubs.

That don't get much of a rise out of him. "Aw, rully!" says he.

"I expect you'll be hikin' out for the grandstand yourself pretty
quick?" I goes on.

"No," says he, shruggin' his shoulders annoyed. "I take no interest in
baseball; none