It was a very predominating mania with Mrs. Onedollar to shine in society with as great a number of amperes as her rival; and this ambition gave rise to one of the greatest domestic civil wars that Ashcroft has even seen.  Mrs. Fivedollars had no envy.  There was no corner in the remote recesses of her heart rented by this mischievous goddess.  She made no effort to “outfashion” fashion or to outshine her neighbors.  What she displayed in dress did not extend beyond the natural female instincts for attire.  Of course she had no cause to be envious, being by far the best dressed lady in town without undue effort.  Mrs. Onedollar viewed the situation from a social apex, and the more she studied the situation the more she realized that the world was discriminating against her.  From being the best of friends, they developed into the most deadly of enemies.

Now, it came to pass that the husbands of those two ladies were the best of friends.  They met frequently in the “Best” and “Next Best” hotels and drank healths in the most harmless and jolly manner.  They often met at their places of business and exchanged ideas.  They had business relations with each other which terminated to the advantage of both.  To quarrel with each other, to them, was much the same as to quarrel with their bread and butter.  They had absolutely no ambitions with regard to their personal appearance.  They had a suit of clothes each; when that was old or shabby they got another one.  But, in this respect, man is very different from woman.  All man wants is covering; a woman must have ornament, and she must equal, if not outshine, her neighbor.  The tension between the two ladies became greater until it was almost at the breaking point.  Several attempts had been made by the distracted husbands to unscrew the strings which they knew were about to snap, but the result was nil.

“The vixen,” said the one.  “The hussy,” said the other; and when two ladies develop the habit of calling each other such queer pet names, a reconciliation seems very remote indeed.

The climax came at the annual Clinton ball.  This was one of those historic functions to which everyone is extended a hearty invitation, and it is one of the great events of the season.  The entire Lillooet, Yale and Cariboo districts participate—­it is a regular meeting of the clans.  And that year was no exception.  All our friends were there, including our heroes and heroines.  The music was throwing its waves of delightful chords through the hall and over the heads of the throng of dancers.  Something happened!  No one knew just what it was, but in the middle of the floor two ladies were seen tearing each other’s hair and draperies.  Heavens! it was our two heroines.  The tension had reached the limit—­the strings were broken.  In a moment our two heroes were on the scene, and each one seized his bundle of property and rushed with it to safety.  The two ladies were bundled into their autos and hurried home to Ashcroft in the middle of the night.