wealth. He had begun to educate his family in spending,--in using to
brilliant advantage the fruits of thirty years' hard work and frugality.
With his cousin Caspar Porter he maintained a small polo stable at Lake
Hurst, the new country club. On fair days he left the lumber yards at noon,
while Alexander Hitchcock was still shut in behind the dusty glass doors of
his office. His name was much oftener in the paragraphs of the city press
than his parents': he was leading the family to new ideals.

Ideals, Sommers judged, that were not agreeable to old Colonel Hitchcock,
slightly menacing even in the eyes of the daughter, whose horizon was
wider. Sommers had noticed the little signs of this heated family
atmosphere. A mist of undiscussed views hung about the house, out of which
flashed now and then a sharp speech, a bitter sigh. He had been at the
house a good deal in a thoroughly informal manner. The Hitchcocks rarely
entertained in the "new" way, for Mrs. Hitchcock had a terror of formality.
A dinner, as she understood it, meant a gathering of a few old friends,
much hearty food served in unpretentious abundance, and a very little bad
wine. The type of these entertainments had improved lately under Miss
Hitchcock's influence, but it remained essentially the same,--an occasion
for copious feeding and gossipy, neighborly chat.

To-night, as Sommers approached the sprawling green stone house on Michigan
Avenue, there were signs of unusual animation about the entrance. As he
reached the steps a hansom deposited the bulky figure of Brome Porter, Mrs.
Hitchcock's brother-in-law. The older man scowled interrogatively at the
young doctor, as if to say: 'You here? What the devil of a crowd has Alec
raked together?' But the two men exchanged essential courtesies and entered
the house together.

Porter, Sommers had heard, had once been Alexander Hitchcock's partner in