"Why, Aunt Sophia—'the evening star,'" said Miss Leigh, laughing.
"Who says—? Did she say I had—ah—addressed her?"
"No—I got it from you. Come on now——"
"Which way are you going? That is just my way. May I have the pleasure of driving up with you? I must go and see your aunt and welcome her back. One moment." He had shown the young lady out of the door. He now turned back and folding up the stock bulletin placed it carefully in his pocket.
As the carriage with its smart team turned into one of the broader streets, two young men were standing in a window of a large building highly decorated, looking idly out on the street. They had just been talking of the threatened strike which the newspapers were discussing, as to which they held similar views.
"I tell you what is the matter with those scoundrels," said the elder of the two, a large, pampered young fellow; "they need cold steel—they ought to be made to work."
"How would that suit us?" laughed the other.
"We don't have to."
"Hello! What's old Bart after?" observed the first one.
"Shekels," said the other, and yawned.