of amateur photography, in which the hostess was proficient, and of
gardens; of the latest novels and some current inelegancies of speech.
Some one spoke of the growing habit of feeing employes to do their
duty. Another referred to certain breaches of trust by bank officers
and treasurers, which occurring within a short time of one another had
startled the community. This last subject begot a somewhat doleful
train of commentary and gave the lugubrious their cue. Complaints were
made of our easygoing standards of morality, and our disposition not
to be severe on anybody; of the decay of ideal considerations and the
lack of enthusiasm for all but money-spinning.

"The gist is here," reiterated one of the speakers: "we insist on
tangible proof of everything, of being able to see and feel it--to get
our dollar's worth, in short. We weigh and measure and scrutinize, and
discard as fusty and outworn, conduct and guides to conduct that do
not promise six per cent per annum in full sight."

"What have you to say to John Baker?" said the host, breaking the
pause which followed these remarks. "I take for granted that you are
all familiar with his story: the newspapers have been full of it.
There was a man who did not stop to measure or scrutinize."

A murmur of approbation followed, which was interrupted by Mrs. Caspar
Green, a stout and rather languid lady, inquiring to whom he referred.
"You know I never read the newspapers," she added, with a decidedly
superior air, putting up her eye-glass.

"Except the deaths and marriages," exclaimed her husband, a lynx-eyed
little stockbroker, who was perpetually poking what he called fun at
his more ponderous half.