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Not many of these men would ever read a book on etiquette; they would learn about life from action—and here was an occasion, the most instructive that had so far come to them. They learned that when a great man comes into a room, he comes first, preceding his subordinates. They learned that he wears a majestic big overcoat, and stands in silence until he is introduced by a subordinate. “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the lease-agent, Skutt, “this is Mr. J. Arnold Ross.” Whereupon Mr. Ross smiled agreeably, taking in the entire company: “Good evenin’, ladies and gentlemen.” Half a dozen men arose, offering him a chair; he took a large one, quite simply, and without wasting time in discussion—realizing, no doubt, how he would be embarrassing the hostess if he called attention to a shortage of chairs.

Behind him stood another man, also big. “Mr. Alston D. Prentice,” said Skutt, and they were doubly impressed, this being a famous lawyer from Angel City. Also there had entered a little boy, apparently a son of Mr. Ross. The women in the room many of them had little boys of their own, each one destined to grow up into a great oil man; therefore they watched the Ross boy, and learned that such a boy stays close by his father, and says nothing, but takes in everything with eager roving eyes. As soon as possible he gets himself a perch in the window-sill, where he sits listening, as attentively as if he were a man.

Mrs. Groarty had got all the chairs her neighbors could spare, and had visited the “morticians” and rented a dozen camp-chairs; but still there was a shortage, and the etiquette book did not tell you what to do. But these rough and ready Western men had solved the problem, having sought out the wood-shed, which was behind the garage, and fetched some empty “lug-boxes,” such as you got when you bought peaches and apricots and plums for canning. Set up on end, these made satisfactory seats, and the company was soon settled.

“Well, folks,” said Mr. Skutt, genially. “Everything ready?”

“No,” said the acid voice of Mr. Hank. “We ain’t ready. We can’t agree.”

“What?” cried the “lease-hound.” “Why, you told me you had got together!”

“I know. But we’re busted open again.”

“What is the matter?”

Half a dozen people started to tell what was the matter; The voice of Mr. Sahm prevailed over the rest. “There’s some people come here with too good lawyers, and they’ve raked up what they claim is laws that the rest of us won’t stand for.”

“Well now,” said Mr. Skutt, politely, “Mr. Prentice here is a very good lawyer, and perhaps he can help clear up the matter.”

So, more or less in chorus, they explained, and made known their protests at the same time. Then Mr. Ross’ lawyer, speaking ex cathedra, advised them that the statement of the law was absolutely correct, the lease as it stood would be interpreted to mean the area to the middle of the streets and alleys; but of course there was nothing to prevent their making a different arrangement if they saw fit, and so specifying in the lease.

And then the fat was in the fire; they began to argue their rights and wrongs, and their animosities flamed so hotly that they forgot even the presence of J. Arnold Ross, and of his eminent lawyer. “I said it once, and I’ll say it again,” declared Miss Snypp—“Never! Never!”

“You’ll sign if we vote it!” cried Mr. Hank.

“You try it and see!”

“You mean you think you can break the agreement?”

“I mean I’ve got a lawyer that says he can break it any day I tell him.”

“Well, I’ll say this,” put in Mr. Dibble; “speaking as a lawyer—and I think my colleagues, Mr. Prentice and Mr. Merriweather will back me—that agreement is iron-clad.”

“Well, at least we can tie you up in the courts!” cried Mr. Sahm. “And keep you there for a year or two!”

“A fat lot o’ good that’ll do you!” sneered Mr. Hank.

“Well, we’d as soon be robbed by one set of thieves as another,” declared Miss Snypp.

“Now, now, folks!” put in Ben Skutt, hastily. “Surely we’re none of us goin’ to cut off our noses to spite our faces. Don’t you think you better let Mr. Ross tell you about his plans?”

“Sure, let’s hear Mr. Ross!” cried Mr. Golighty; and there was a chorus—yes, by all means they would hear Mr. Ross. If anyone could save them, it was he!