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 what Clagg was a-letting on to me the other day, Loreta."

"I hope, I hope, Obed, that it's nothing worse than what's come already?" interrupted Mrs. Probasco.

In spite of any new and unexpected interest in Obed's account of the black sheep of the Jennison line, Philip felt a touch of sympathy for her kindly grief.

"No, it aint so bad. Yet, it's a trifle wuss, in one way," Obed answered, philosophically. "There's more ways o' earnin' a dishonest livin' than there is for an honest one, I sometimes think. But give me, please, a square an' fair villain! Clagg says that last year there was a bad case, a most amazin' one, of blackmail in New York. Do you know what that is, wife? These boys do, I reckon. Well, this was a special, scandalous thing, so Mr. Clagg thinks; an attempt on the part of a couple of rascals to put a family secret into all the newspapers unless the two old ladies they threatened would pay 'em well on to twenty-five thousand dollars to keep quiet. They didn't succeed. The police took the matter up. The rogues were frightened an' got out of