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Kenneth turned to Mr. Merrick.

“Talk to them, Uncle John,” he begged.

“I have,” said the little man, smiling, “and they’ve convinced me that they mean business. It’s all up with you, my boy, as a private citizen. You’re as good as elected.”

Ken’s eyes filled.

“You’re all very kind, sir,” he said, “as you were bound to be. And—and I appreciate it all—very much. But Mr. Watson will tell you that the case is hopeless, and there’s nothing to be done.”

“How about it, Watson?” inquired Uncle John, turning to the lawyer.

“I’ll explain the proposition, sir, so you will all understand it,” he replied, and drew his chair into the circle. “To begin with, Kenneth visited the glen one day, to make a sketch, and found his old table-rock covered with an advertising sign.”

“How preposterous!” exclaimed Louise.

“There were three of these huge signs in different parts of the glen, and they ruined its natural beauty. Kenneth managed to buy up the spaces and then he scrubbed away the signs. By that time he had come to detest the unsightly advertisements that confronted him every time he rode out, and he began a war of extermination against them.”