Tangles; Tales of Some Droll Predicaments/The Price of the Past Participle

HAT Prentiss Ford was a noteworthy young man, predestined to a successful career, was in no way more clearly indicated than by the fact that, although a suburban resident of some years' standing, it was his habit to finish his leisurely breakfast a good five minutes before it was necessary for him to start on his briskly easy walk to the train; and this was the more remarkable in that Ford's regular train was the 7.20, known as "the clerks'," to distinguish it from "the works'" at 6.10 and "the shirks'" at 8.30. "The clerks" mostly ran to the train, and it was not uncommon to see several panting passengers furtively buttoning their cuffs and adjusting their cravats after the train had pulled out of the station.

Not so Prentiss Ford. He rarely arrived a half-minute before the locomotive came in sight around the curve, but, on the other hand, he seldom had to hurry his stride in order to step upon the platform before the train started, and a similar promptness and exactness marked the conduct of all his affairs.

But there came a morning when he found himself face to face with a problem for which he could find no solution. The following day would be his wife's birthday, and his habitual readiness had given way before his masculine uncertainty as to what gift would meet with the sincere approval of a fastidious woman. As he met her answering smile across the breakfast table he paid mental tribute, for the thousandth time, to her daintiness. Ford was appreciative, and two years of constant association with it had not dulled his consciousness, born of long experience in boarding-houses, to the fact that the exquisite finish of Stella's morning dress was but one indication of a certain characteristic perfection of taste in all things, which constituted, for him, her most potent charm.

Sometimes, however, he felt a distressing uncertainty as to his ability to meet in full all its requirements. This was one of the times, and he wished that he might ask her for a suggestion; but since it was one of her immutable convictions that a birthday gift, to be complete, must be a surprise, it was obviously impossible to appeal to her for help. He thought that he had canvassed all the possibilities, going into unfrequented corners of his mind in search of them, and they had all proved undesirable. Thus he found himself, on the day before the anniversary, not only entirely unprepared for the event, but depressed by the conviction that he had exhausted his mental resources; and he had a vision of himself receiving Stella's pretty thanks for something which he had stupidly bought at the last moment in desperation, and which he knew that she would never, under any circumstances, have selected for herself.

He folded his napkin with his accustomed deft deliberation, and joined his wife at the window to read, over her shoulder, the head-lines of the morning paper, as was their wont before his daily departure.

"Hello!" he exclaimed. "Mayhew's gotten his berth."

Prentiss was given, in moments of excitement or extreme concentration, to the use of this obsolescent past participle, a habit of which Stella vainly tried to break him.

"Who's Mayhew?" she asked.

"Billy Mayhew, otherwise William B., Junior," explained Ford. "Not as young as the Junior would seem to indicate, however. You see, he's been appointed consul at San Salvador. Capital fellow. Handles all John S. Babcock's business."

"That argues mental dexterity," she said.

"More than that; it proves shrewdness, courage, energy, and good judgment," he replied.

Stella raised her eyebrows. "All of which he now purposes to devote to the service of his country in a petty consulate in a remote and insignificant republic?" she whimsically queried. "Such patriotism seems worthy of a more cordial recognition by the powers that be."

"It's not patriotism; it's a tardy operation of the first law of nature," replied her husband, laughing. "Mayhew has had a good many irons in the fire, and I heard some time ago that his physician had ordered him to rest and advised a warmer climate, but I had no idea that it would come to this. It must be serious. I wonder who'll get Babcock's business now?" he reflectively added.

"Would you like to have it?" she asked.

"Like it!" he exclaimed. "My dear girl, that business is worth at least five thousand a year to an attorney, aside from the prestige it gives to be Babcock's lawyer. Would I like it!"

"Well," she questioned, "why don't you get it?"

Ford glanced at her with amusement, tempered with just a shade of annoyance. "Unfortunately," he said, dryly, "an attorney is hampered by a professional prejudice which forbids his assaulting a man, in the progressive commercial fashion, and demanding his business. The dignity of the law—"

"Oh, quite so!" she interrupted. Prentiss had ponderous moments, which she had learned to dodge adroitly. "But there are other ways."

"Are there?" He laughed again. "For example?"

"How should I know? I'm not a business man."

"Well?" His tone suggested that there was no possible answer to its question.

"There's always a way," she said.

"If one is not fastidious." His tone had not changed.

"Prentiss!"

"Oh, well—" he began, apologetically.

"As if I would suggest—"

"No, no, certainly not!" he hastily interposed. "But—what do you suggest?" he added.

"I don't know," she again admitted. "But why shouldn't you have it?"

"Being a 'wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower,' I see no reason," he said, still laughing; "but Mr. Babcock probably seeks a man of acknowledged experience and mature judgment—"

"Well," she again interrupted, "suppose he does? What else was it that made you guard the point that none of their experienced old lawyers thought of in the Fullerton case? And they all admitted that the suit would have been lost but for that. What was it that made you win the Dexter case but shrewdness and good judgment? You are young, of course," a reluctant admission, "but Mr. Babcock might go farther and fare worse!" Bright spots of color glowed in her cheeks, and Prentiss regarded her with gratified admiration.

"You are using the personal equation as a numerator," he protested. "Good-by, dear."

She followed him into the hall. "I called on Miss Mowbray yesterday," she said.

"Who's she?" Prentiss was brushing his hat.

"Mrs. Babcock's niece, you know—visiting them. She's a dear! We must do something for her," she added. "A dinner-party, or something."

"Yes," he absently assented; "that would be a good idea."

She kissed him good-by, and stood on the steps looking after him. "And you will think of a way, won't you, dear?" she called.

"Perhaps," he said, closing the gate.

John S. Babcock was not only a wealthy man himself, with a controlling interest in several good companies and a directorship in several more, but he held various positions of trust and was the custodian of sundry large funds of one sort and another, so that his legal business was not a matter to be lightly awarded; and on the way to the station Ford's mind was full of queries concerning the remote probability of his obtaining at least a share of it, and he temporarily forgot his quandary about Stella's birthday gift.

On the train he met a man named Sabin, with whom he usually sat on the way to town, and the two fell into a desultory exchange of the day's news over their papers, although one lobe of Ford's brain still held the consciousness that the Babcock business was afloat and unanchored.

"Oh, thunder!" suddenly ejaculated his friend.

"What's the matter?" carelessly inquired Ford.

"They've changed the bill at the opera to-night. Somebody's unable to sing, and they're going to put on 'Lohengrin'!"

The Metropolitan Opera Company was making one of its angel's visits to San Francisco, near which they lived and in which their offices were located.

"Well?"

"Well, I've got tickets, but I'll be hanged if I want to hear 'Lohengrin!' German opera's one too many for me!"

Ford's problem returned to him, but he saw a glimmer of its solution. "How many tickets have you?" he asked.

"Two, in the parquet. Imagine paying seven dollars a seat for the privilege of enduring an evening of German opera!" growled Sabin.

"Do you want to dispose of them?"

"Sure! Do you want them?"

"Yes, I'll take them," said Ford. He paid the fourteen dollars and slipped the tickets into his pocket with a sigh of relief. Stella was a discriminating lover of music, and devoted to Wagner, but owing to the excessive price of the seats they had not as yet attended the opera this season. He remembered vaguely that there was a book on the Wagnerian operas which she had once expressed a desire to own. He would get that as a permanent souvenir of the evening; and this arrangement, with a nice little supper, he comfortably reflected, would certainly do very well.

As he was leaving the train he met John S. Babcock coming from an adjoining car.

"No, his defalcation didn't surprise me," Mr. Babcock was saying to some one behind him. "Look at the reckless way in which that man spent money! It was evident that he was living beyond his means all the time, and naturally the money had to come from somewhere, so the company paid. I have found it an excellent plan to judge of a man's value to me by the way in which he takes his pleasures. If he's extravagant, I won't have him; and parsimony is almost as— Oh, good morning, Ford." He interrupted himself, nodding cordially to the young attorney. "How's Mrs. Ford this morning."

When he reached the office, Prentiss found a client from a neighboring town awaiting him, and entered at once upon a long and earnest discussion of important business. As they went deeper into the subject it became evident that Ford would be obliged to give his entire day to the matter, and he resolved to telephone to Stella that he would not dine at home, and ask her to meet him in town in time for the opera. He told the office-boy to ring up Mrs. Ford, and after a few minutes received the information that the telephone in Mr. Ford's residence was out of repair. He was in the midst of an explanation of an abstruse legal point, but paused long enough to pull a tablet toward him and write:

"Here, Fred," he said to the boy, "take this to the telegraph-office at once." He then turned to resume his interrupted discussion with his client.

Early in the afternoon, while he was still very busy, a telegram was brought to him. He opened it and read:

He read the message twice uncomprehendingly. Then he remembered the dinner-party that Stella was planning for Miss Mowbray. Probably these were the guests. But why wire him? And why thanks? Oh, the opera seats, of course! Stella was punctilious about acknowledging an invitation—it was one of the many manifestations of her good taste—and as her mind was full of her dinner, she had used the remaining nine words to enumerate her guests. It was one of her delicious feminine economies never to send a telegram of less than ten words. She said it was wasteful. Ford smiled, tucked the slip of yellow paper into his waistcoat pocket, and returned to the struggle of the hour.

His client was obliged to take a train at half past four, and Ford accompanied him to the station, intending to return at once to the office to attend to some work which the business of the day had forced aside; but, finding himself excessively fatigued, and wishing to be fresh for the evening, he decided to take a brisk walk and an early dinner, after which he would work until it was time to go to the train to meet Stella. She would arrive on the theater train at quarter before eight, giving him just time for a quick change of dress at a hotel near the opera-house.

He bought the book on Wagnerian operas for his wife, and shortly before six o'clock he was again ready for work. As he neared the office-building where most of his days were spent he noticed a woman approaching him from the opposite direction, carrying a suit-case. Something about her figure and the poise of her head reminded him of Stella. A moment later the wind caught a corner of her black coat and blew it back, revealing the light gown beneath. Ford quickened his steps, suddenly realizing that it was Stella, and that she had probably taken an early train in order to dine with him. She was glowing with enthusiasm, and greeted him warmly.

"Are you just getting back?" she asked, as they ascended the steps together. "We telephoned from the station about half after four, and Fred said that you had gone out, but that he expected you back soon."

"We?" he queried.

"Mrs. Babcock and I," she supplied. "We are invited to dine with them at the University Club."

But I have dined," he objected.

"Oh, have you?" Disappointment shadowed her face for an instant, and then vanished. "Oh, well, never mind! You can't have had much, at this hour, and the chef at the University Club would tempt a saint on a fast-day!"

They entered the elevator and were whizzed up six stories. As they went down the dusky hall toward the office Stella tucked her hand into his.

"It was so dear of you to plan this, Prentiss!" she exclaimed. "It's my birthday-party, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, tenderly pressing her fingers. "Do you like it?"

"Better than anything! But you're very extravagant, aren't you?" There was a suggestion of anxiety in her tone that Ford hastened to dispel.

"Not a bit!" he heartily protested. "Business is looking up, and we can afford to be a little indulgent to ourselves—particularly on your birthday," he added, pulling out his keys. Stella sighed with content.

"Then I'm quite happy," she said. "The dinner with the Babcocks will be a delightful preliminary, and the others are to meet us at the opera-house. It was so like you to let me invite them myself!" She patted his hand as he fitted the key in the door.

"Eh?" ejaculated Ford, turning to look at her, a disturbing suspicion crossing his mind. "What others?"

"Why, didn't you get my message? I wired you that I had invited the Babcocks and Miss Mowbray, the Galvins, the Tallants, and Ogden Pomeroy. He's for Miss Mowbray," she swiftly added. "I think they'll suit each other to perfection."

"Oh," he said, throwing open the door and stepping back to allow her to enter. "You mean the dinner."

"No, I don't!" she cried, in surprise. "The Babcocks give the dinner—just for us. I mean our theater-party—my birthday-party, you dear thing! And, oh—perhaps I ought not to mention it, but I don't mind your combining the two. Indeed I don't! It makes it just that much more delightful! And it was so clever of you to find a way!"

"A way?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yes—to interest Mr. Babcock. You know how he loves German opera!"

"But I didn't ask Mr. Babcock!" he cried.

"No, but you knew I would!" she rejoined, with enthusiasm. "That was where you were so perfectly delicious! You left it to me! And of course," she dimpled with demure satisfaction, "we wouldn't give a theater-party—particularly so large a party—without asking the Babcocks!"

It was characteristic of Ford that he showed no surprise, and in her happy excitement she did not notice the straws whose pointing might have attracted her attention in a calmer moment.

"Stella, how did I word that message?" He spoke very quietly. "Do you remember?"

She laughed irrepressibly. "Indeed I do! I know it by heart! 'Mrs. Prentiss Ford, San Mateo,'" she recited, with affected seriousness. "'Have got ten tickets for 'Lohengrin.' Bring dress-suit. Prentiss Ford.'"

Ford recognized his ancient enemy, the obsolescent past participle.

"You might have added another word, Prentiss," she continued, reproachfully. "There were only nine. Why did you ask?"

"Oh, I just wondered what gave you the impression—"

"That you wanted the Babcocks invited? Dear boy, I may not be a brilliantly clever young attorney," with a caressing accent, "but I am the next best thing, the herein-before-mentioned attorney's wife. And here's your dress-suit. I carried it all the way from the station myself when I found you were not there to meet me; and you must make haste and dress, or we shall be late to dinner."

Ford in the mean time had been doing some rapid thinking. He looked at his watch and found it was twenty minutes after six. Every man in the building had gone at that hour. He put his hand in his pocket, knowing that he should find there a dollar and some cents in silver, which, with ten dollars in another pocket, constituted his sole supply of cash in hand. Eight additional opera seats would cost fifty-six dollars. He contemplated taking Stella into his confidence, but he instantly saw with what consternation and chagrin she would learn of the mistake, and that the knowledge would only cause her distress at a time when he wanted her to be especially happy, without in the least altering the conditions. At present she was radiantly content, and to disturb her equilibrium would be to add to the discomforts and dangers of the situation, while if she could be kept in ignorance of the true state of affairs her genuine unconsciousness would help to carny off any hitch that might occur later.

He quickly decided that he dared take no more risks than the circumstances compelled, and that he would send Stella to the dinner, excusing himself on the quite justifiable plea of pressing business. In this way he would secure two hours in which to find means wherewith to meet his obligations.

"Prentiss, dear, you must hurry!" again urged his wife.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, with very sincere reluctance in his tone. "I can't go to the dinner with you. No, it's quite impossible." He answered the protest in her face. "I have something on hand which must be done."

"To-night?"

"To-night—within two hours," he added.

"But when Mr. Babcock— This is such an opportunity!" she begged.

"I know, but it can't be helped." He spoke with decision. "It's quite impossible for me to go. I had planned to spend the time before you arrived at work, and I simply cannot neglect this matter."

"Oh, well—perhaps it's just as well, after all." She bravely struggled with her disappointment. "Perhaps it will give him a better impression if you are too busy to accept even his invitation—and too conscientious to neglect your client's interests," she concluded, with a flush of pride. Ford winced inwardly. He preferred not to deceive his wife, even for her good, but his decision was made, and there was nothing left but to carry it through.

He called a cab and sent Stella to the dinner, laden with his messages of regret; and as the lights of her carriage disappeared he turned with determination to his quest. He made a quick canvass of the building, on the chance of finding some lingering man whom he knew, and the still remoter chance that the man, if found, would have the necessary sum at hand. But every office was dark, and he reached his own door with that faint hope extinguished. He looked at his watch; it was twenty-five minutes before seven. The party would arrive at the opera-house about eight, and he must be there sufficiently ahead of them to have the tickets in his possession. Suddenly it occurred to him that it might not be possible at this late hour to get ten seats together. He went to the 'phone and called up the opera-house.

"Can you give me ten seats in a block?" he asked.

"No, sir," came the prompt answer.

"No chance of arranging it in any way?" he asked.

"No, sir. There are only six seats left on the lower floor. We can give you three together. The others are scattering."

Ford's heart sank. "How about the balcony?" he inquired.

"Nothing at all there. Every seat sold. You wouldn't want a box?"

"There are ten in my party," said Ford.

"I can give you two adjoining boxes—five seats in each. The only ones left."

"How much?"

"Forty-five dollars each."

"All right," said Ford, quietly. "Will you reserve them for me until I can get down there?"

"Well—how long will that be?"

"Oh, half an hour or more," replied Prentiss, with affected carelessness. "I'll have to dress; and I'm some distance out," he mendaciously added.

"What name, please?"

"Prentiss Ford."

"Address?"

"My offices are in the Attorneys' Building. I live at San Mateo."

"You think you can be here in half an hour, Mr. Ford?"

"I think so. Perhaps you'd better allow me an extra ten minutes."

"All right, sir."

"There won't be any slip about this?" asked Ford, as if he were cross-examining a witness. "I shall arrive there with my party, and I don't wish to disappoint them," he added.

"No, sir; that 'll be all right."

"Oh, by the way," said Prentiss, as an afterthought, "if you should have calls for seats in the parquet, I have a couple that I shall not need now."

"Yes, sir; that 'll be all right," repeated the voice.

Ford hung up the receiver with one hand and took out his watch with the other. It was twenty minutes of seven. He would secure the seats first and dress! afterward. Being a man of much reserve, his friendships, while warm, were few, and it happened that three of his close friends, Bert Galvin, George Tallant, and Ogden Pomeroy, were in the party that his wife had invited to the opera, which effectually erased them from the list of possibilities. Moreover, they had probably all gone home on an early train, in order to dress and return in the evening, as he would have done but for his urgent business. He smiled sardonically as he glanced at the untouched work lying on his desk. He took the money from his pockets and found that he had eleven dollars and sixty-five cents. The opera tickets that he had bought of Sabin in the morning would bring his cash capital up to twenty-five dollars. This left sixty-five that he must obtain in some way before he could secure the seats for his party.

Then it occurred to him that a supper must follow the opera. He couldn't decently give an entertainment of this elaborate nature without offering his guests something to eat. That would require at least twenty—possibly thirty—dollars more; ninety-five in all that he had still to get. A nice little sum for a young attorney to spend in entertaining, he thought; the price of the obsolescent past participle!

Suddenly he remembered Mr. Babcock's words: "I have found it an excellent plan to judge of a man's value to me by the way in which he takes his pleasures. If he's extravagant, I won't have him."

"There goes my last and only chance," he grimly said to himself. "This will settle his opinion of me!"

Floating through his mind, jostling these calculations, were various plans for obtaining the money, all more or less impracticable. With the independence characterizing the management of popular organizations, the oracle in the box-office during the opera season had peremptorily and persistently refused to accept checks in payment for seats, so Prentiss knew that any attempt to make such an arrangement would prove futile. He tried to telephone to two men whom he knew sufficiently well to ask for a loan, and found one of them out of town and the other not yet arrived at home. It occurred to him that possibly Sabin might have remained in town, in which case he might dine at Germaine's, where they sometimes took lunch together. Ford ran down six flights of stairs, as the elevator had stopped for the night, and he also ran three of the five blocks to the restaurant, modifying his pace only when he came into the more frequented streets. He passed through the restaurant, looking eagerly from side to side, but Sabin was not there. He decided to ask the proprietor, who would remember him as a frequent patron, to cash his check, and learned, upon inquiring at the desk, that Mr. Germaine was ill, and had gone home.

At that moment he remembered a lawyer who lived in town, a middle-aged bachelor named Robbins, who might possibly have the money within reach, and he crossed the street to a public telephone station. He was relieved to learn that Mr. Robbins was at home, and a moment later he was saying:

"Robbins, can you put your hand on seventy-five or eighty dollars? I'm in no end of a hole, and I've got to get out somehow within half an hour."

"My dear fellow, I'm awfully sorry," Robbins's pleasant voice answered, "but I've just loaned my last dollar to my nephew. I've exactly enough carfare to get down-town in the morning. Is it imperative?"

"Absolutely," replied Ford. "Well, thanks, just the same. I'll make some other arrangement."

"Haven't you anything you can pawn?" asked Robbins, laughing.

"I'll see," said Ford. "How much will they loan?"

"About a third of the value of your collateral."

"Thanks. Good-by."

He looked at his watch. It was five minutes past seven. He had only fifteen minutes more at the outside. He remembered a pawn-shop near the opera-house. His knowledge of those Meccas of impoverished youth was vague, as he had never before in his well-ordered life been found without some preparation for any emergency that might befall, or some adequate resource upon which he could depend. Now he had less than fifteen minutes in which to obtain sixty-five dollars, or lose his seats, disappoint his friends, distress his wife, and humiliate himself. After that he had still to find the money wherewith to purchase the supper.

He ran out of the telephone station, hailed a passing cab, and drove to his office, where he ran up six flights of stairs, seized his suit-case, and plunged down to the cab again, bidding the man "drive like the devil" to the pawn-shop. As he left the cab, still panting from his run up and down stairs, he looked at his watch. It was fifteen minutes past seven.

He found a telephone and called up the opera-house. "This is Prentiss Ford," he said, as calmly as if he were not gasping for breath. "I am on my way down, but have been detained. Will you hold those boxes for me until half-past seven?"

"You'll surely take them, sir?"

"Oh yes," with cheerful assurance; "I am on my way down-town now."

"Very well, sir."

Prentiss hung up the receiver and went to the pawn-shop. "What will you give me for the suit I have on?" he asked. "It's new."

The man fingered the coat. "Sixteen dollars," he said.

"And my watch?" continued Ford.

"Twenty-five dollars," said the Jew, after an examination.

"I must have more than that," said Ford.

"What else have you got?" asked the man.

"Nothing," said Prentiss. Then his glance fell on a card upon which were displayed some cheap imitation-pearl studs. "Hold on!" he exclaimed. He opened his suit-case and took the pearl studs from his dress-shirt. The Jew examined them carefully.

"Twenty dollars," he said.

"How much are those?" asked Ford, indicating the imitations.

"Seventy-five cents."

"That will do," promptly replied Ford. "I'll take those, and you may have these." In the mean time he had found his pumps. "How much for my shoes?" he went on, putting up his foot for examination.

"Two dollars."

"Very well," he agreed. "Have you a place where I can change my clothes?"

He was taken into an evil-smelling apartment, where he quickly dressed, packing his business suit in the suit-case.

"How much for the case?" he asked, as he came out.

"Three dollars."

"All right. The clothes are packed in it, and here's the watch. Hurry up!"

But the old Jew wished to be thoroughly assured that all that he had paid for was in the case. After having satisfied himself on this point, he deliberately counted out sixty-six dollars, and gave Ford the customary tickets for the redemption of the goods.

As Prentiss was leaving the opera-house, after having secured the seats, he heard some one call:

"Hullo, Ford!"

Turning, he saw Ogden Pomeroy.

"What are you doing down here all alone?" asked Pomeroy. "And where's Stella?"

"Stella is dining with the Babcocks," replied Prentiss. "I was busy and couldn't go, and I came down here a little early to make sure of my seats. I hadn't been able to get down for my tickets before."

"Business must be rushing with you," remarked his friend. "Where are you going now? Aren't you going to wait until the rest come?"

"No," said Ford, thinking of his supper. "I—the truth is, I'm looking for a man."

"Won't I do?" asked Pomeroy. "Have a cigar?"

"No, thanks. I'm in a deuce of a hurry."

"It must be a case of 'battle, murder, and sudden death' to hurry you!" rejoined Pomeroy, laughing. "Can I be of any assistance?"

"Why—er—no," began Ford, and then he hesitated. Pomeroy was a bachelor and a good fellow; he could be relied upon to keep his own counsel, and the case was becoming desperate.

"I'm at your service," said Ogden.

"Well, to tell the truth, I'm somewhat short of money. I have been unexpectedly called upon for a large amount," explained Prentiss, with a last effort to preserve his dignity, "and it has left me without enough to pay for the supper I want to give after the opera. If you happen to have twenty or thirty dollars about you—"

Pomeroy groaned, and putting his hand in his pocket, brought out a handful of small change. "That's all I have," he said, ruefully, "that and my commutation ticket."

Ford looked his disappointment. "Oh, well, never mind," he said, after a moment. "I'll manage somehow."

Thereupon Pomeroy conceived an idea that he felt to be brilliantly original in its association with Prentiss Ford. "Why don't you pawn something? he asked. "There's a little shop down here, where—" He stopped, impressed by the irony of Ford's smile.

"Man," said Prentiss, "I've pawned the clothes off my back, the shoes off my feet, and the jewels out of my shirt-front!"

Then the whole story came out, interrupted by shouts of laughter from Pomeroy.

"Here!" he cried, when Prentiss had finished. "Come on! I have my watch. We'll pawn that! Certainly we will!" he persisted, in answer to Ford's protests. "It's the least I can do for you!"

Ogden's watch brought seventeen dollars and a half, but by adding his fob and a quaint and valuable ring that he wore they obtained a sum that they felt would be sufficient.

When the rest of the party arrived at the opera-house they found their host and Pomeroy unconcernedly smoking and chatting near the entrance, and Ford received the greetings of his guests as calmly as if this entertainment had been as entirely of his planning as they believed it to be, while Stella was exquisitely radiant.

After they were seated In the boxes Mr. Babcock said to his wife: "Prentiss Ford is a noteworthy young man. He has always lived well within his income, and he must be meeting with remarkable success to be able to give an entertainment like this."

But it was not until the next day that Prentiss fully realized what his past participle had done for him. Then it was that John S. Babcock came into his office and said:

"Mr. Ford, my attorney, Mr. Mayhew, has been called away, and I am redistributing some of my business. Do you think you could find time to help me out?"

Prentiss thought he could.