CHAPTER IV.

A SCENE OF HILARITY.


Several weeks had elapsed since Hubert Tracy had made up his mind to
thwart the man whom he hated with a bitter hate. He was not backward
in expressing his thoughts to the accomplished Mr. Arnold, who
entered into the project heart and soul, and discussed the subject
with all the nonchalance his shallow nature was capable of.

On the evening in question they are seated at a small side-table,
profusely decorated with champagne bottles, glasses, and a few
delicate morsels of refreshments.

"At the bazaar, Dick?" exclaimed Montague, stroking his
artistically-waxed moustache with considerable dexterity.

The individual addressed as Dick was certainly a dude of the
fifteenth degree--his pale-blue pantaloons being sufficient proof
without venturing another glance. His movements, voice and manner
were constant reminders of the excruciating assertion, "I'm a dude."
But of the question.

"Oh! is that you, Arnold? I really did not expect to see you here
to-night. How is business at the governor's? Hear you are making a
bold dash there?"

"Yes, you can bet on that! I'm the white-headed boy there now."