family name of Meehan, the young man and Lady Moya, his sister, had
that morning landed in New York, but before the reporters had
discovered them, had escaped from the wharf and disappeared.

"'Inquiries at the different hotels,'" read Kinney impressively,
"'failed to establish the whereabouts of his lordship and Lady
Moya, and it is believed they at once left by train for Newport.'"

With awe Kinney pointed at the red funnels of the Mauretania.

"There is the boat that brought them to America," he said. "I
see," he added, "that in this picture of him playing golf he wears
one of those knit jackets the Eiselbaum has just marked down to
three dollars and seventy-five cents. I wish--" he added
regretfully.

"You can get one at New Bedford," I suggested.

"I wish," he continued, "we had gone to Newport. All of our BEST
people will be there for the wedding. It is the most important
social event of the season. You might almost call it an alliance."

I went forward to watch them take on the freight, and Kinney
stationed himself at the rail above the passengers gangway where he
could see the other passengers arrive. He had dressed himself with
much care, and was wearing his Yale hat-band, but when a very
smart-looking youth came up the gangplank wearing a Harvard ribbon,
Kinney hastily retired to our cabin and returned with one like it.
A few minutes later I found him and the young man seated in camp-
chairs side by side engaged in a conversation in which Kinney