ect circle of statesmen who owned a taste to begin
the year with draw poker at Chamberlin's. However, there existed in the
destinies of Mr. Harley not the faintest call for all this elaboration
of deceit. Mrs. Hanway-Harley would not have uttered a whisper of
objection had he openly declared for an absence of a fortnight, with the
design of playing poker, nothing but poker, every moment of the time.
But it is the vain fancy of some men to believe themselves and their
company those things most longed for at home, when the precise converse
of such condition of longing is the one which exists, and this fancy was
among the weaknesses of Mr. Harley. Besides, he revered the truth so
much that, like his Sunday coat, he employed it only on rare occasions,
and when advantage could be arrived at in no other way. Truth was a
pearl, and Mr. Harley felt strongly against casting it before the swine
of every common occurrence, when mendacity would do as well or better.
Wherefore, and to keep his hand in, Mr. Harley invariably romanced in
whatever he vouchsafed of himself or his habits to Mrs. Hanway-Harley.
Nor was this so unjust as at a first blink it might seem. If Mr. Harley
misled Mrs. Hanway-Harley as to his personal movements, she in return
told him nothing at all of her own, the result, to wit, total darkness,
being the same for both. However, they were perfectly satisfied, rightly
esteeming the situation one wherein, if ignorance were not bliss, at
least it was folly to be wise.

The winter evening, still, not cold, was clear and crisp, with the snow
squeaking cheerfully under foot, and Mr. Harley waddled on his way
towards Storri's door in that blandness of mood which comes to one whose
wine and dinner and stomach are in comfortable accord. Waddled is the
word; for with his short legs, and that profundity of belt proper to
gentlemen who have reached the thither side of middle age, and given
years to good eating and drinking, Mr. Harley had long since ceased to
walk.

Mr. Harley was not surprised by the urgent character of Storri's
summons. Doubtless, the business related to Credit Magellan, and what
steps in Wall Street and the Senate were being taken for a conquest of
Northern Consolidated. Affairs in those theaters of commercial effort
were as they should be. Things were moving slowly, they must of
necessity move slowly, and Storri had grown impatient. The Russian's
warmth was expected; Mr. Harley had read him long since l