"Yes," said Sherwood, "you see, since the big fires, it has become a good
deal a matter of pride. There are eleven volunteer companies, and they are
great rivals in everything, political and social, as well as in the line of
regular business, so to speak. Mighty efficient. You'll have to join a
company, of course; and you better look around a little before deciding.
Each represents something different--some different element. They are
really as much clubs as fire companies."

They mounted to the upper story, where Keith found himself in a long room,
comfortably fitted with chairs, tables, books, and papers. A double door
showed a billiard table in action. Sherwood indicated a closed door across
the hall.

"Card rooms," said he briefly.

The air was blue with smoke and noisy with rather vociferative conversation
and laughter. Several groups of men were gathered in little knots. A negro
in white duck moved here and there carrying a tray.

Sherwood promptly introduced Keith to many of these men, and he was as
promptly asked to name his drink. Keith caught few of the names, but he
liked the hearty, instant cordiality. Remarking on the beauty and order of
the machines, loud cries arose for "Taylor! Bert Taylor!" After a moment's
delay a short, stocky, very red-faced man, with rather a fussy manner, came
forward.

"Mr. Keith," said a tall, dark youth, with a pronounced Southern accent,
"I want foh to make you acquainted with Mr. Tayloh. Mr. Tayloh is at once
the patron saint of the Monumentals, but to a large extent its 'angel' as