“I’ve written to another cousin by marriage,” said Spindler dubiously, “in case of accident; I didn’t think of him before, because he was rich.”

“And have you ever seen him either, Mr. Spindler?” asked the widow, with a slight mischievousness.

“Lordy!  No!” he responded, with unaffected concern.

Only one mistake was made by Mrs. Price in her arrangements for the party.  She had noticed what the simple-minded Spindler could never have conceived,—­the feeling towards him held by his old associates, and had tactfully suggested that a general invitation should be extended to them in the evening.

“You can have refreshments, you know, too, after the dinner, and games and music.”

“But,” said the unsophisticated host, “won’t the boys think I’m playing it rather low down on them, so to speak, givin’ ’em a kind o’ second table, as ef it was the tailings after a strike?”

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Price, with decision.  “It’s quite fashionable in San Francisco, and just the thing to do.”

To this decision Spindler, in his blind faith in the widow’s management, weakly yielded.  An announcement in the “Weekly Banner” that, “On Christmas evening Richard Spindler, Esq., proposed to entertain his friends and fellow citizens at an ‘at home,’ in his own residence,” not only widened the breach between him and the “boys,” but awakened an active resentment that only waited for an outlet.  It was understood that they were all coming; but that they should have “some fun out of it” which might not coincide with Spindler’s nor his relatives’ sense of humor seemed a foregone conclusion.

Unfortunately, too, subsequent events lent themselves to this irony of the situation.

He was so obviously sincere in his intent, and, above all, seemed to place such a pathetic reliance on her judgment, that she hesitated to let him know the shock his revelation had given her.  And what might his other relations prove to be?  Good Lord!  Yet, oddly enough, she was so prepossessed by him, and so fascinated by his very Quixotism, that it was perhaps for these complex reasons that she said a little stiffly:—­

“One of these cousins, I see, is a lady, and then there is your niece.  Do you know anything about them, Mr. Spindler?”

His face grew serious.  “No more than I know of the others,” he said apologetically.  After a moment’s hesitation he went on:  “Now you speak of it, it seems to me I’ve heard that my niece was di-vorced.  But,” he added, brightening up, “I’ve heard that she was popular.”

Mrs. Price gave a short laugh, and was silent for a few minutes.  Then this sublime little woman looked up at him.  What he might have seen in her eyes was more than he expected, or, I fear, deserved.  “Cheer up, Mr. Spindler,” she said manfully.  “I’ll see you through this thing, don’t you mind!  But don’t you say anything about—­about—­this Vigilance Committee business to anybody.  Nor about your niece—­it was your niece, wasn’t it?—­being divorced.  Charley (the late Mr. Price) had a queer sort of sister, who—­but that’s neither here nor there!  And your niece mayn’t come, you know; or if she does, you ain’t bound to bring her out to the general company.”