asked the conductor.

"You will be guilty of a cowardly surrender of principle if you do,"
said the emphatic gentleman.

"May I suggest," said Arthur blandly, "that you wear it in his stead?"

"I am not interested either way," returned the emphatic one, with a snap
of the terrible jaws, "but maintain that for the sake of principle----"

A long speech was cut off at that moment by a war-cry from a simple lad
who had just entered the car, spied the ribbon, and launched himself
like a catapult upon the Orange champion. A lively scramble followed,
but the scene speedily resolved itself into its proper elements. The
procession had passed, the car moved on its way, and the passengers
through the rear door saw the simple lad grinding the ribbon in the dust
with triumphant heel, while its late wearer flew toward the horizon
pursued by an imaginary mob. Louis sat down and glared at the emphatic
man.

"Who is he?" said Arthur with interest, drawing his breath with joy over
the delights of this day.

"He's a child-stealer," said Louis with distinctness. "He kidnaps
Catholic children and finds them Protestant homes where their faith is
stolen from them. He's the most hated man in the city."

The man accepted this scornful description of himself in silence. Except
for the emphasis which nature had given to his features, he was a
presentable person. Flying side-whiskers made his mouth appear
grotesquely wide, and the play of strong feelings had produced vicious
wrinkles on his spare face. He appeared to be a man of energy, vivacity
and vulgarity, reminding one of a dinner of pork and cabbage. He was
soon forgotten in the excitement of a delightful day, whose glories came
to a brilliant end in that banquet which introduced the nephew of
Senator Dillon into political life.

Standing before the guests, he found himself no longer that silent and
disdainful Horace Endicott, who on such an occasion would have cooly
stuttered and stammered through fifty sentences of dull congratulation
and platitude. Feeling aroused him, illumined him, on the instant,
almost without wish of his own, at the contrast between two pictures
which traced themselves on his imagination as he rose in his place: the
wrecked man who had fled from Sonia Westfield, what would he have been
to-night but for the friendly hands outstretched to save him? Behold him
in honor, in health, in hope, sure of love and some kind of happiness,
standing before the people who