like magic. Why, simply to get rid of all this Christmas shopping is everything. To be honest with you, my friend, it's a mighty relief."

The two men looked at each other.

They recognized that for each of them it was a critical moment. Unconsciously they had epitomized the situation. They belonged to two opposing parties.

And this evidently was what Morgfeller had counted on. "Well," said McFerson, "as I understand it, I want the women back and you don't."

He waved his arm around the corridor of the hotel. The news of the coming financial king seemed to have crystallized matters at once. Almost unconsciously all the men present had drawn themselves into two groups. It was evidently going to be a fight to the death.

"You see," he continued, "how the land lies. So let us be neutral. Let us pair off."

"Agreed," said Spinnerton, and they made their way uptown toward the Grand Central Station.

Crowds of citizens were thronging thitherward from all directions. And everywhere they were falling, instinctively, naturally, into two groups.

These groups soon began to be distinguished by cries of their own and by emblems and banners hastily devised.

One banner, surrounded by a group of determined and sadeyed old graybeards, not one of them under seventy, read:

DOWN WITH MORGFELLER!

GIVE US BACK OUR SWEETHEARTS!

Another banner, enthusiastically followed by a long line of benedicts, read:

WHO'S ALL RIGHT?

MORGFELLER!

NO MORE DRESSMAKERS' BILLS TO PAY.

DOWN WITH REFINEMENT!

As the two men approached the scene of the expected arrival, the throng became more dense, and their progress was constantly impeded by groups of individuals varying in size, who listened with shouts of enthusiasm to orators improvised from their own ranks.

On the corner of Broadway and Thirty-seventh Street, a fashionable physician was addressing his fellows.

"Gentlemen," he exclaimed, "it is needless to remind you how critical is this terrible situation. In the last few days my own income has dwindled to almost nothing. Unless we have the women to support us, our very existence as a profession will be threatened. My instruments are becoming rusty from disuse. Let us, therefore, organize and march upon this fell destroyer of our rights and privileges!"

On the next corner a small, nervous and radiant-faced little man was holding forth from the rear end of an automobile to a large and enthusiastic gathering.

"Fellow-citizens in newly found freedom," he cried, "I haven't known what it means to kick up my heels now for twelve long years, since I was led as a sacrifice to the altar. And now, having got a taste of liberty, shall we relinquish it?" (Cries of "Never! Never!") "No! we shall keep what we have gained.

This great city will soon, under a great reform administration, be the stamping-ground of all the real dead-game sports in the world, who are tired of being led around by the ears. Gentlemen, up to three days ago I didn't dare say that my soul was my own. Now, thanks to Morgfeller, I can raise the devil every hour of the day and night.

"But, brothers, we must get together. We have strong opposition. All the tradespeople are against us. Every jeweler, every tailor, every caterer, every doctor, is against us. But we belong to the great silent majority, and with Morgfeller on our side we will win!"

As the two men passed on by the Metropolitan Opera House, Spinnerton, inflamed by the last utterance, but still preserving his neutrality, could not help but triumphantly refer McFerson to the legend that hung on its doors:

GRAND OPERA SUSPENDED.

THIS HOUSE WILL HEREAFTER BE A
FIRST-CLASS VAUDEVILLE.

ALL THE LATEST STORIES!

SMOKING, DRINKING AND HIGH JINKS.

"I must confess," said McFerson, "that this is a pleasant change. But let us move along."

As they approached the station they became conscious that something startling had happened. Cries of rage and disappointment were heard on all sides. It was ten minutes past the time when the great man was expected.

The train had arrived, and he was not in it.

In his place he had sent his private secretary.

As the news spread along the line, howls of fury rent the

air. Could it be that Morgfeller was afraid? His adherents, lined up on one side, scorned the idea. His enemies, lined up on the other side, jeered in derision.

Suddenly there was a vast shout. The two friends, looking down the line, saw a startling sight. An open victoria flanked by a company of soldiers was coming. In the victoria were two figures a man and a woman!

The man, as became immediately evident, was the private secretary. The woman was about fifty. Her face, unmistakably Celtic, was wrinkled with innumerable lines. She was gaunt, raw-boned, ugly.

What could it mean?

It became evident, however, that Morgfeller had plans of his own, which the man whom he had chosen to represent him was amply empowered to carry out.

That individual, as the victoria arrived at the intersection of Broadway and Forty-second Street, motioned to the driver to stop. Then he arose and addressed the multitude. He was faultlessly groomed, in a silk hat and frock coat, and presented a strange contrast to his unkempt audience.

"Gentlemen," he said, waving his hand in the direction of his companion, "allow me to introduce to you Bridget Murphy. I am taking her down to the Stock Exchange, where she will be duly listed. Every man in this city will have an opportunity to bid upon her services."

The carriage moved on again amid a dense uproar.

"So," said McFerson, "this is Morgfeller's game. He is certainly a master hand at finance. He has shrewdly played upon one of the most powerful forces in human nature, by creating a division among all men themselves. If it were not for fellows like you, he wouldn't live a moment. But through you he has succeeded in making a division of public opinion, while he reaps the profit."