ay the next day.

"Your grandfather isn't teaching at Madison now, I believe?"

"No; but he lectures sometimes, and he has taught me; there was never a
better teacher," she answered, smiling.

"You must have been well taught if you are ready for college so early;
you are--you say you're older than Marian--do you mind my asking how old
you ate?"

"Nearly seventeen; seventeen in October."

"Oh! Then you are four years older than Marian. But I mustn't keep you
here. Please remember me to Mrs. Owen and tell her I'll drop in before I
go." He bent over the gate and put out his hand. "Good-night, Miss
Garrison!"

Sylvia had never been called Miss Garrison before, and it was not
without trepidation that she heard herself so addressed. Mr. Bassett had
spoken the name gravely, and their eyes met again in lingering contact.
When the door closed upon her he walked on rapidly; but once, before the
trees had obscured Mrs. Owen's lights, he turned and glanced back.

CHAPTER VIII

SILK STOCKINGS AND BLUE OVERALLS

One night in this same June, Harwood was directed by the city editor of
the "Courier" to find Mr. Edward G. Thatcher. Two reporters had failed
at it, and it was desirable to verify reports as to certain transactions
by which Thatcher, in conjunction with Morton Bassett, was believed to
be effecting a merger of various glass-manufacturing interests. Thatcher
had begun life as a brewer, but this would long since have been obscured
by the broadening currents of fortune if it had not been for his
persistent dabbling in politics. Whenever the Republican press was at a
loss for something to attack, Thatcher's breweries--which he had
concealed in a corporation that did not bear his name were an inviting
and unfailing target. For years, though never seeking office, he had
been a silent factor in politics, and he and Bassett, it was said,
controlled their party. Mrs. Thatcher had built an expensive house, but
fearing that the money her husband generously supplied was tainted by
the remote beer vats, she and her two daughters spent most of their time
in Europe, giving, however, as their reason the ill-health of Thatcher's
son. Thatcher's income was large and he spent it in his own fashion. He
made long journeys to witness prize fights; he had the reputation of
being a poor poker player, but "a good loser"; he kept a racing-stable
that lost money, and he was a patron of baseball and owned stock in the
local club. He w