“Very well, I’ll see what I can do.  Good-by, I’ve got an engagement,” said Mr. Crewe, and slammed down the telephone.  He seated himself in his chair, and the pensive mood so characteristic (we are told) of statesmen came over him once more.

While these and other conferences and duties too numerous to mention were absorbing Mr. Crewe, he was not too busy to bear in mind the pleasure of those around him who had not received such an abundance of the world’s blessings as he.  The townspeople of Leith were about to bestow on him their greatest gift.  What could he do to show his appreciation?  Wrestling with this knotty problem, a brilliant idea occurred to him,—­he would have a garden-party:  invite everybody in town, and admit them to the sanctities of Wedderburn; yes, even of Wedderburn house, that they might behold with their own eyes the carved ivory elephants and other contents of glass cabinets which reeked of the Sunday afternoons of youth.  Being a man of action, Mr. Pardriff was summoned at once from Leith and asked for his lowest price on eight hundred and fifty invitations and a notice of the party in the Ripton Record.

“Goin’ to invite Democrats, too?” demanded Mr. Pardriff, glancing at the check-list.

“Everybody,” said Mr. Crewe, with unparalleled generosity.  “I won’t draw any distinction between friends and enemies.  They’re all neighbours.”

“And some of ’em might, by accident, vote the Republican ticket,” Mr. Pardriff retorted, narrowing his eyes a little.

Mr. Crewe evidently thought this a negligible suggestion, for he did not reply to it, but presently asked for the political news in Ripton.

“Well,” said Mr. Pardriff, “you know they tried to get Austen Vane to run for State senator, don’t you?”

“Vane Why, he ain’t a full-fledged lawyer yet.  I’ve hired him in an unimportant case.  Who asked him to run?”

“Young Tom Gaylord and a delegation.”

“He couldn’t have got it,” said Mr. Crewe.

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Pardriff, “he might have given Billings a hustle for the nomination.”

“You supported Billings, I noticed,” said Mr. Crewe.

Mr. Pardriff winked an eye.

“I’m not ready to walk the ties when I go to Newcastle,” he remarked, “and Nat ain’t quite bankrupt yet.  The Gaylords,” continued Mr. Pardriff, who always took the cynical view of a man of the world, “have had some row with the Northeastern over lumber shipments.  I understand they’re goin’ to buck ’em for a franchise in the next Legislature, just to make it lively.  The Gaylords ain’t exactly poverty-stricken, but they might as well try to move Sawanec Mountain as the Northeastern.”