d Home Week is?"

"Only what I read in to-day's paper announcing the preliminary
committee."

"That gave you enough idea. We make a big thing of Old Home Week in
Worthington. This year it will be particularly big because it's the
hundredth anniversary of the city. The President of the United States
will be here. I'm to be chairman of the general committee, and I want
you for my secretary."

"Nothing I'd like better, sir."

"Good! All the moneyed men in town will be on the committee. The work
will put you in touch with the people who count. Well, that settles our
business. Good luck to you in your independence, Boyee." He touched a
bell. "Any one waiting to see me, Jim?" he asked the attendant.

"Yes, sir. The Reverend Norman Hale."

"Send him in."

"Shall I go, Dad?" asked Hal.

"Oh, you might take a little ramble around the shop. Go anywhere. Ask
any questions of anybody. They all know you."

At the door, Hal passed a tall, sinewy young man with heavy brows and
rebellious hair. A slight, humorous uptilt to his mouth relieved the
face of impassivity and saved it from a too formal clericalism. The
visitor was too deeply concerned with some consideration of his inner
self to more than glance at Hal, who heard Dr. Surtaine's hearty
greeting through the closing door.

"Glad to see you, Mr. Hale. Take a chair."

The visitor bowed gravely and sat down.

"You've come to see me about--?"

"Your subscription to the East End Church Club Fund."

"I am heartily in sympathy with the splendid work your church is doing
in the--er--less salubrious parts of our city," said Dr. Surtaine.

"Doubtless," returned the young clergyman dryly.

"Seems to be saving his wind," thought Dr. Surtaine, a little uneasily.
"I suppose it's a question," he continued, aloud, "of the disposition of
the sum--"

"No: it is not."

If this bald statement required elucidation or expansion, its proponent
didn't seem to realize the fact. He contemplated with minute scrutiny a
fly which at that moment was alighting (in about the proportion of the
great American eagle) upon the pained countenance of Old Lame-Boy.

"Well?" queried the other, adding to himself, "What the devil ails the
man!"

The scrutinized fly rose, after the manner of its kind, and (now reduced
to normal scale) touched lightly in its exploratory tour upon Dr.
Surtaine's domed forehead. Following it thus far, the visitor's gaze
rested. Dr. Surtaine brushed off the insect.