These and other evidences of the plutocracy’s cruel grip upon the nation had ended by exasperating the people.  There must be a limit somewhere to the turpitudes of a degenerate class of nouveaux riches.  The day of reckoning was fast approaching for the grafters and among the first to taste the vengeance of the people would be the Colossus.  But while waiting for the people to rise in their righteous wrath, Ryder was all powerful, and if it were true that he had instituted these impeachment proceedings her father had little chance.  What could be done?  They could not sit and wait, as Stott had said, for the action of the Senate.  If it were true that Ryder controlled the Senate as he controlled everything else her father was doomed.  No, they must find some other way.

And long after the judge and Stott had left for the city Shirley sat alone on the porch engrossed in thought, taxing her brain to find some way out of the darkness.  And when presently her mother and aunt returned they found her still sitting there, silent and preoccupied.  If they only had those two letters, she thought.  They alone might save her father.  But how could they be got at?  Mr. Ryder had put them safely away, no doubt.  He would not give them up.  She wondered how it would be to go boldly to him and appeal to whatever sense of honour and fairness that might be lying latent within him.  No, such a man would not know what the terms “honour,” “fairness” meant.  She pondered upon it all day and at night when she went tired to bed it was her last thought as she dropped off to sleep.

The following morning broke clear and fine.  It was one of those glorious, ideal days of which we get perhaps half a dozen during the whole summer, days when the air is cool and bracing, champagne-like in its exhilarating effect, and when Nature dons her brightest dress, when the atmosphere is purer, the grass greener, the sky bluer, the flowers sweeter and the birds sing in more joyous chorus, when all creation seems in tune.  Days that make living worth while, when one can forget the ugliness, the selfishness, the empty glitter of the man-made city and walk erect and buoyant in the open country as in the garden of God.

Shirley went out for a long walk.  She preferred to go alone so she would not have to talk.  Hers was one of those lonely, introspective natures that resent the intrusion of aimless chatter when preoccupied with serious thoughts.  Long Island was unknown territory to her and it all looked very flat and uninteresting, but she loved the country, and found keen delight in the fresh, pure air and the sweet scent of new mown hay waited from the surrounding fields.  In her soft, loosefitting linen dress, her white canvas shoes, garden hat trimmed with red roses, and lace parasol, she made an attractive picture and every passer-by—­with the exception of one old farmer and he was half blind—­turned to look at this good-looking girl, a stranger in those parts and whose stylish appearance suggested Fifth Avenue rather than the commonplace purlieus of Massapequa.