you used to. Can't you? Do you _have_ to go back to Philadelphia?"

Mr. Wing looked a little wistful, but he answered chafingly, "Wouldn't
that be a great thing to do just now in the middle of one of the
greatest cases in my career?"

"Oh, tell us about it," cried Agony eagerly. Agony was perfectly well
aware of the fact that her father would never tell anything at home that
was not also given out to the newspapers, but she liked to hear him tell
that little in his own way.

"It's the Arnold Atterbury case,--you've read about it in the
newspapers--the man who has been organizing strikes in the big munition
plants," replied Mr. Wing. "We know he was only a tool in the hands of
some powerful German agency, but who or what it is we do not know. But
we mean to find out!" he added in a tone which gave a hint of the stern
determination of his character. "We will track down those enemy
influences like foxes to their holes!" His voice thundered out like the
voice of judgment.

"Amen to that!" exclaimed the artist fervently, and, seizing his water
glass from beside his plate, he sprang to his feet and raised it high in
the air.

"Let's have a toast!" he cried. "Drink success to our cause and defeat
to the enemy!"

The rest were on their feet in an instant, clinking Grandmother Wing's
etched tumblers across the table and drinking the toast with all their
hearts. That little incident put patriotic fervor into all of them and