n the sunken garden.
The moon was so bright that the roses still held their color.

"I would like to thank him," said the young wife. She meant the Young
Man of Wall Street. "But for him we would have lost _this_."

Her eyes caressed the garden, the fruit-trees, the house with wide,
hospitable verandas. "To-morrow I will send him some of these roses,"
said the young wife. "Will he understand that they mean our home?"

At a scandalously late hour, in a scandalous spirit of independence,
Champ Thorne and Barbara were driving around Central Park in a taxicab.

"How strangely the Lord moves, his wonders to perform," misquoted
Barbara. "Had not the Young Man of Wall Street saved Mr. Hastings, Mr.
Hastings could not have raised your salary; you would not have asked me
to marry you, and had you not asked me to marry you, father would not
have given me a wedding-present, and--"

"And," said Champ, taking up the tale, "thousands of slaves would still
be buried in the jungles, hidden away from their wives and children and
the light of the sun and their fellow men. They still would be dying of
fever, starvation, tortures."

He took her hand in both of his and held her finger-tips against his
lips.

"And they will never know," he whispered, "when their freedom comes,
that they owe it all to _you_."

* * * * *

On Hunter's Island, Jimmie Reeder and his bunkie, Sam Sturges, each on
his canvas cot, tossed and twisted. The heat, the moonlight, and the
mosquitoes would not let them even think of sleep.

"That was bully," said Jimmie, "what you did to-day about saving that
dog. If it hadn't been for you he'd ha' drownded."

"He would _not_!" said Sammy with punctilious regard for the truth; "it
wasn't deep enough."

"Well, the scout-master ought to know," argued Jimmie; "he said it was
the best 'one good turn' of the day!"

Modestly Sam shifted the lime-light so that it fell upon his bunkie.

"I'll bet," he declared loyally, "_your_ 'one good turn' was a better
one!"

Jimmie yawned, and then laughed scornfully.

"Me!" he scoffed. "I didn't do nothing. I sent my sister to the movies."

THE FRAME-UP

When the voice over the telephone promised to name the man who killed
Hermann Banf, District Attorney Wharton was up-town lunching at
Delmonico's. This was contrary to his custom and a concession to
Hamilton Cutler, his distinguished brother-in-law. That gentleman was
interested in