under the impression that--?"

"Do you wish me to say it again? Who has been elected Vice-President
of the Guardian?"

"A man," said her visitor slowly, "by the name of Smith."

Helen leaned back in her chair in mock exhaustion.

"That was certainly awfully difficult," she said, with a little laugh
of triumph. "I thought you would never admit it."

"I suppose you'd have found it out sometime, anyway," Smith said
philosophically.

"No, you're wrong," his companion denied, "for the very good and simple
reason that I already knew it."

"You knew it! And yet you put me through this cross-examination?"

Helen nodded complacently.

"Uncle Silas told me this afternoon."

"But how did he know? No announcement has been made."

"Mr. Wintermuth wrote him."

"Well," said Smith, "no ring master with a long, cracking whip ever
made a reluctant poodle jump through a series of hoops in a more
professional manner than you put me through my little story."

"Yes," said Helen, demurely. Then, growing suddenly more serious, she
said, "And won't you let me congratulate you, Mr. Vice-President?"

"I will," said Smith. "There is no one I know by whom I would rather
be congratulated."

He took in his own her offered hand, and for just a moment an enchanted
silence abode in the room. Then, with no effort on Smith's part to
detain her, Helen withdrew her hand.

"Now I can tell you about Uncle Silas and Charlie Wilkinson," she said.
"And both are so interesting as topics that I hardly know where to
begin."

"Begin with Mr. Osgood, please," her visitor suggested.

"Very well, then. I have been seeing quite a little of Uncle Silas
lately. After he turned over the management of his business to
Bennington Cole, it seems as if he hardly knew what to do with himself.
For many years he has been such a busy man that this leisure has left
him at a loss to pass his time. So he has been playing around with me
to some extent. We have had lots of long talks together; among other
subjects we have even discussed you."

"So I learn," Smith responded.

"Don't be saturnine," the girl rejoined. "Seriously, though, while
I've enjoyed Uncle's Silas's society, I don't believe this idleness is
good for him. In fact, I'm rather worried about him--I think having
nothing to do makes him despondent, for it makes him feel as though his
day's work was over. And there's no reason why it should be. He's not
really old, although he looks