"Well," answered the major, beetling his brows over his keen eyes, "I
suppose there is no doubt that Taylor is machine-made. He's the real
blind tiger, and Potts is his striped kitten. I understand he 'lost'
four-fifths of the 'open' indictments that the grand jury 'found' on
their last sitting. The whisky men are going to sell as long as the
criminal court protects them, of course. Let's let them cut that conduit
deeper into the public mind before they begin on the streets."

"I'm looking for a nasty show-down for this town before long, Major, if
there are men enough in it to call the machine."

"Tom," answered the major as he blew a last ring from his cigar, "a town
is in a rotten fix when the criminal court is a mockery. Let's go
interrupt the women's dimity talk."

And it was quite an hour later that Milly decided in an alarmed hurry
that she and the babies must take their immediate departure. David
maneuvered manfully to send them home in his car and to have Phoebe wait
and let him take her home later--alone. But Phoebe insisted upon going
with Milly and Billy Bob and the youngsters, and the reflection that the
distance from the unfashionable quarter inhabited by the little family,
back to Phoebe's down-town apartment was very short, depressed him to the
point of defiance--almost.

However, he packed them all in and then as skilfully unpacked them at the
door of their little home. He carried up the twins and even remained a
moment to help in their unswathing before he descended to the waiting car
and Phoebe. As he gave the word and swung in beside her, David Kildare
heaved a deep and rapturous sigh. It was so much to the good to have her