mbs' tongues; he casts his lot with
the Sheep at church. I don't know but he would feel a genuine pleasure
in having Wool pulled over his eyes. And still I am convinced that he
never ought to have been in the Wool business at all, and that
Boggs--what a drop--is right in his impression that it will eventually
swamp him."

Roseleaf asked how Mr. Fern got into the trade in the first place.

"Well, as I understand it, Boggs was looking for a partner. Mrs. Fern
had some cash and her husband wanted to put it into a good thing, from a
financial standpoint. They did well while they were together. When Boggs
pulled out they had a clear $200,000 apiece. Boggs--confound him!--has
his yet; Fern hasn't. He's proud as the devil, and didn't tell me this,
by any means. It would break him up completely to have to go into
bankruptcy. Really, I wish I could do something for him."

Roseleaf looked up inquiringly.

"Why, I've got a fair amount of money," explained Archie, "and perhaps a
lift over these hard times might be the making of him. I'm not
particularly a philanthropist, but I like this fellow wonderfully well
for such a new acquaintance. I shall give him a delicate hint in a day
or two, and if I can fix things without too much risk--we have to
protect ourselves, you know--I am willing to do so."

This struck Shirley Roseleaf as rather odd. He had never thought about
Mr. Weil in that way. Whether he was rich or poor had never entered his
head. He began to wonder if he was very wealthy. He certainly lived
well, and had no visible occupation of the sort the census takers call
"gainful."

"It is an interesting family, though," pursued Archie, in his rambling
way. "I wish I could get into it as you did, you rascal, and observe it
at shorter range. Even the servants are worth studying. Look at that
Hannibal; who can say that the African race is inferior when it produces
such marvels! I can hardly take my eyes off the black paragon when he is
present. How he passes the soup--as if it were some heavenly decoction,
made by the gods themselves and sent to earth by their favorite
messenger! With what grace he opens the carriage door! with what majesty
he mounts to his seat by the driver! I wonder if he has a sister. She
would be worth a journey to see. I have met such women on their native
soil, statuesque, slender, full-breasted, square-shouldered, with jars
of water on their heads and clinking silver anklets. What a cursed thing
is