here a copy of a New York evening paper of an—uh—sensational order, giving a grossly exaggerated account of the incident. There is one particular, however, in regard to which they do not exaggerate—exaggeration being impossible—and that is in their description of the outrageous apparel which my son and my nephews were wearing at the time."

Mr. Carter adjusted his glasses and picked up the paper, his frown darkening as he glanced rapidly down the column. A facetious young reporter had made the best of a good story.

"'Volunteer firemen—Gallant behaviour of Chief McDougal—Threatened tragedy—H'm——" His eye lighted on the offending paragraph, and he settled himself to read.

"'Conspicuous among those present were the authors of the conflagration, Master Robert Carter, twelve-year-old son of Jerome B. Carter, and his three cousins, sons of John D. Brainard, of Philadelphia. Whatever may be said of Philadelphians in general, there is nothing