efore them. Four
generations back, Silas Osgood's family had been supported by the staid
old English public's fear of fire. Three generations in Massachusetts
had been similarly preserved from the pangs of hunger. Likenesses of
all four were hanging on the wall of Mr. Osgood's office; as to
identity the first two were highly questionable, but their uniforms in
the old prints showed up fresh and bright. In those old days gentlemen
only, men of education and station, whose judgment and courage were
beyond question, were intrusted with the responsibility of fighting the
flames. It is hard to say why this important and exciting work should
no longer attract the same sort of men to its service.

Hanging beside the four generations were the commissions of the fire
companies locally represented in the Osgood office. Stout old
companies they were, too, for the most part; one of the older ones was
well in the second century of its triumph over fire and the fear of
fire and the ashes thereof; this was a foreign company which Osgood
held for old sake's sake. The other commissions bore American
signatures, most of them well known and well esteemed. On the wall
right above where Smith sat was the gold seal of his own company, the
Guardian, and against the seal the inexplicable hieroglyph which served
Mr. James Wintermuth for his presidential signature. Then there was
the great white sheet with the black border which set forth to all the
world by these presents that Silas Osgood and Company were the duly
accredited agents of the Atlantic Fire Insurance Company of Hartford,
Connecticut. The narrow placque of the old Birmingham Indemnity of
Birmingham, England, looked like a calling card beside the Atlantic's
flamboyant placard.

Smith, seeing Mr. Osgood's look fixed for a moment on the parchment
above his head, said inquiringly, "How long is it that you have
represented the Guardian in Boston?"

The older man smiled reflectively and turned his eyeglass in his hand
as he spoke.

"It was the year after the big fire when I first took the Guardian into
my office. You are a close enough student of the game to know that
that was just about forty years ago."

Smith nodded.

"Before Richard Smith was born. But I remember the date. Who
appointed you as agent?"

Mr. Osgood pointed to the scrawl at the foot of the framed commission.

"My old friend, James Wintermuth," he said. He paused a moment. "I
can almost see him n