that, before the new year was well out of its incubator Jack had papers in a breach-of-promise suit served on him. He wrote Mr. Stebbins that it was all a joke, and had merely been a portion of that foam which a train of youthful spirits are apt to leave in their wake; but the girl stood solid for her rights, and, as she had never heard from her fiancé since the night of the dance, her family—who were rural, but sharp—thought it would take at least fifteen thousand dollars to patch the crack in her heart. If the news could have been kept from Aunt Mary until after Mr. Stebbins had looked into the matter, everything might have resulted differently. But the Chicago lawyer who had the case took good care that the wealthy aunt knew all as quickly as possible, and it seemed as if this was the final straw under which the camel must succumb. 

 And Aunt Mary did appear to waver. 

 “Fifteen thousand dollars!” she cried, aghast. “Heaven help us! What next?” 

 It was Lucinda who was seated calmly opposite at this crisis. 

 “Do you suppose he really did it?” the aunt continued, after a minute of appalled consideration. 

 “It’s about the only thing he ain’t never done,” the tried and true servant answered, her tone more gratingly penetrative than ever. 

 Aunt Mary eyed her sharply, not to say furiously. 

 “I wish you’d give a plain answer when I ask you a plain question, Lucinda,” she said coldly. “If you’d ever got a breach-of-promise suit in the early mail you’d know how I feel. Perhaps—probably.” 

 “I ain’t a doubt but what he done it,” Lucinda screamed out; “an’ if I was her an’ he wouldn’t marry me after sayin’ he would I’d sue him for a hundred thousand, an’ think I let him off cheap then.” 

 Aunt Mary deigned to smile faintly over the subtlety of this speech; but the next minute she was frowning blacker than ever. 

 “A girl from Kalamazoo, too, just up in Chicago for a week—just up in Chicago long enough to come down on me for fifteen thousand dollars.” 

 “Maybe she’ll take five thousand instead,” Lucinda remarked. 

 “Maybe!” ejaculated her mistress, in fine scorn. “Maybe! Well, if you don’t talk as if money was sweet peas an’ would dry up if it wasn’t 

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