“I tell you what it is, Bob,” said the eldest one, “I’m going to quit this concern.  It’s my opinion it’s a rotten corporation; and I don’t propose to ruin my standing with the commercial world.”

“Gee!” exclaimed the younger boy in delight.  “You’re a buster, Joe, and no mistake.  The president himself couldn’t have rolled that sentence off better, or that old piece of pomposity who conies to the secret meetings with the gold-headed cane.”

“That’s Judge Hildreth.  He’s another deep one or I lose my guess.”

“Why, he’s a No.  I deacon in one of the uptown’s swellest churches!”

“Guess he’s a child of darkness in between times then, for I’ll bet he does lots of underground work.  I don’t believe in this awfully private business.  The other day, after old man Hildreth came, before the directors had their meeting, (he always does come just before that, to prime Peters, you know,) what did he do but make Peters send for me to shut the transoms over his office doors, so that none of us fellows outside could hear what they were saying!

“I tell you I don’t like the looks of things.  This morning one of those heavy stockholders came in and wanted to take out all his money, and the president went white as a sheet.  There’s a flaw in the ready money account somewhere, I’ll bet, and I’m going to leave before the bottom drops out of the concern.  If you take my advice you’ll follow.”

The other boy laughed.  “Bet your life I won’t, then.  Where’d you get such good pay, I’d like to know?  I’ve had enough of grubbing along on $4.00 a week.  No, sirree, I’ll keep in tow with the deacon and get my share of all the stuff that’s going, same as the other fellows do.”

“You won’t do it long then, you mark my words.  Did you see the president when he came into the office this morning?  He looked as if he’d been gagged.  I went into his office for something in a hurry afterwards and he was head over ears in Railway Time Tables.  He jumped as if he’d been caught poaching.  It’s my belief he means to skip across the border.  It’s the only way for him to get out of the mess, unless he takes a dose of lead, you see.

“Well, here goes.  I’m going to write my resignation with the president’s best gold pen.  You can do as you like, but it’s slow and honest for me.”

CHAPTER XIX.

Miss Diana Chillingworth was sitting in the old-fashioned porch of her old-fashioned house which opened into an old-fashioned garden in one of the suburbs of Marlborough, shelling peas.  Everything about Miss Diana was old-fashioned and sweet.  Her hair was dressed as she had been accustomed to wear it in her girlhood, and even the head mantua-maker of Marlborough, ardent worshiper at Fashion’s shrine though she was, was forced to bow before her gentle individuality and confess that Miss Diana’s taste was perfect.

She wore a morning dress of soft pearl grey, over which she had tied an apron of white lawn with a dainty ruffle of embroidery below its hem.  The peas danced merrily against the sides of an old-fashioned china bowl.  Miss Diana had an aesthetic repugnance to the use of tin utensils in the preparation of food.