Transcriber's Note:

The underscore character "_" is used in this book to indicate italicsmarkup in the original, as in "Then he _must_ hold on. " The onlyexception to this is where it is used to indicate a subscript, specifically in H_20 and CO_2, the common chemical formulas for waterand carbon dioxide referenced in the text. 

[Illustration: "DON DEAR, YOU'RE LIVING TOO MUCH DOWNTOWN"]

THE WALL STREET GIRL

BY

FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

GEORGE ELLIS WOLFE

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1915 AND 1916, BY EVERY WEEK CORPORATION

COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published September 1916

TO

THALIA

CONTENTS

 I. Don Receives a Jolt 1 II. It Becomes Necessary to Eat 11 III. The Queen Was in the Parlor 20 IV. Concerning Sandwiches 27 V. Business 43 VI. Two Girls 64 VII. Roses 71 VIII. A Man of Affairs 80 IX. It Will Never Do 93 X. Dictation 100 XI. Steak, With Mushrooms and Advice 111 XII. A Social Widow 123 XIII. Dear Sir-- 129 XIV. In Reply 138 XV. Cost 144 XVI. A Memorandum 153 XVII. On the Way Home 161 XVIII. A Discourse on Salaries 171 XIX. A Letter 184 XX. Stars 185 XXI. In the Dark 193 XXII. The Sensible Thing 200 XXIII. Looking Ahead 207 XXIV. Vacations 215 XXV. In the Park 223 XXVI. One Stuyvesant 238 XXVII. The Stars Again 247 XXVIII. Seeing 256 XXIX. Mostly Sally 264 XXX. Don Explains 275 XXXI. Sally Decides 295 XXXII. Barton Appears 305 XXXIII. A Bully World 317 XXXIV. Don Makes Good 321 XXXV. "Home, John" 330

THE WALL STREET GIRL

CHAPTER I

DON RECEIVES A JOLT

Before beginning to read the interesting document in front of him, Jonas Barton, senior member of Barton & Saltonstall, paused to cleanhis glasses rather carefully, in order to gain sufficient time tostudy for a moment the tall, good-looking young man who waitedindifferently on the other side of the desk. He had not seen his lateclient's son since the latter had entered college--a black-haired, black-eyed lad of seventeen, impulsive in manner and speech. Theintervening four years had tempered him a good deal. Yet, thePendleton characteristics were all there--the square jaw, the ratherlarge, firm mouth, the thin nose, the keen eyes. They were all there, but each a trifle subdued: the square jaw not quite so square as thefather's, the mouth not quite so large, the nose so sharp, or theeyes so keen. On the other hand, there was a certain fineness that thefather had lacked. 

In height Don fairly matched his father's six feet, although he stilllacked the Pendleton breadth of shoulder. 

The son was lean, and his cigarette--a dilettante variation of honesttobacco-smoking that had always been a source of irritation to hisfather--did not look at all out of place between his long, thinfingers; in fact, nothing else would have seemed quite suitable. Barton was also forced to admit to himself that the young man, in somemiraculous way, managed to triumph over his rather curious choice ofraiment, based presumably on current styles. In and of themselves thegarments were not beautiful. From Barton's point of view, Don's strawhat was too large and too high in the crown. His black-and-white checksuit was too conspicuous and cut close to the figure in too feminine afashion. His lavender socks, which matched a lavender tie, went wellenough with the light stick he carried; but, in Barton's opinion, ayoung man of twenty-two had no business to carry a light stick. By nostretch of the imagination could one picture the elder Pendleton insuch garb, even in his jauntiest days. And yet, as worn by Don, itseemed as if he could not very well have worn anything else. Even themourning-band about his left arm, instead of adding a somber touch, afforded an effective bit of contrast. This, however, was no fault ofhis. That mourning has artistic possibilities is a happy fact that hasbrought gentle solace to many a widow. 

On the whole, Barton could not escape the deduction that the sonreflected the present rather than the past. Try as he might, it wasdifficult for him to connect this young man with GrandfatherPendleton, shipbuilder of New Bedford, or with the father who in hisyouth commanded the Nancy R. But that was by no means his duty--as Donfaintly suggested when he uncrossed his knees and hitched forwardimpatiently. 

"Your father's will is dated three years ago last June, " beganBarton. 

"At the end of my freshman year, " Don observed. 

Jonas Barton adjusted his spectacles and began to read. He read slowlyand very distinctly, as if anxious to give full value to eachsyllable:

"New York City, borough of Manhattan, State of New York. I, DonaldJoshua Pendleton, being of sound mind and--"

Donald Pendleton, Jr. , waved an objection with his cigarette. 

"Can't you cut out all the legal stuff and just give me the gist ofit? There's no doubt about father having been of sound mind and soforth. "

"It is customary--" began the attorney. 

"Well, we'll break the custom, " Don cut in sharply. 

Barton glanced up. It might have been his late client speaking; itgave him a start. 

"As you wish, " he assented. "Perhaps, however, I may be allowed toobserve that in many ways your father's will is peculiar. "

"It wouldn't be father's will if it wasn't peculiar, " declared Don. 

Barton pushed the papers away from him. 

"Briefly, then, " he said, "your father leaves his entire estate toyou--in trust. "

Don leaned forward, his stick grasped in his gloved hands. 

"I don't get that last. "

"In trust, " repeated Barton with emphasis. "He has honored our firmwith the commission of serving as a board of trustees for carrying outthe terms of the will. "

"You mean to fix my allowance?"

"To carry out the terms of the will, which are as follows: namely, toturn over to you, but without power of conveyance, the paternaldomicile on West Sixtieth Street with all its contents. "

Don frowned. 

"Paternal domicile--I can translate that all right. I suppose you meanthe house. But what's that line 'without power of conveyance'?"

"It means that you are at liberty to occupy the premises, but that youare to have no power to sell, to rent, or to dispose of the propertyin any way whatsoever. "

Don appeared puzzled. 

"That's a bit queer. What do you suppose Dad thought I wanted of aplace that size to live in?"

"I think your father was a man of considerable sentiment. "

"Eh?"

"Sentiment, " Barton repeated. "It was there you were born, and thereyour mother died. "

"Yes, that's all correct; but--well, go on. "

"The rest of the document, if you insist upon a digest, consistsprincipally of directions to the trustees. Briefly, it provides thatwe invest the remainder of the property in safe bonds and apply theinterest to meet taxes on the aforesaid paternal domicile, to retainand pay the wages of the necessary servants, to furnish fuel andwater, and to maintain the house in proper repair. "

"Well, go on. "

"In case of your demise--"

"You may skip my demise; I'm not especially interested in that. "

"Then I think we have covered all the more important provisions, "Barton concluded. 

"All?" exclaimed Don. "What do you think I'm going to live on?"

Here was the clash for which Barton had been waiting. His facehardened, and he shoved back his chair a little. 

"I am not able to find any provision in the will relating to that, " heanswered. 

"Eh? But what the deuce--"

For a moment Don stared open-mouthed at the lawyer. Then he reached inhis pocket for his cigarettes, selected one with some deliberation, and tapped an end upon the case. 

"You said Dad had considerable sentiment, " he observed. "It strikes mehe has shown more humor than sentiment. "

Barton was still aggressive. To tell the truth, he expected somesuggestion as to the possibility of breaking the will; but if ever hehad drawn a paper all snug and tight, it was the one in question. 

"Damme, " Pendleton, Sr. , had said. "Damme, Barton, if the lad is ableto break the will, I'll rise in my grave and haunt you the rest ofyour days. "

If the boy wished to test the issue, Barton was ready for him. But theboy's thoughts seemed to be on other things. 

"I suppose, " mused Pendleton, Jr. , "I suppose it was that freshmanscrape that worried him. "

"I was not informed of that, " replied Barton. 

"It made good reading, " the young man confided. "But, honest, it wasnot so bad as the papers made it out. Dad was a good sport about it, anyhow. He cleared it up and let me go on. "

"If you will allow me to advance an opinion, --a strictly personalopinion, --it is that Mr. Pendleton devised the entire will withnothing else but your welfare in mind. He had a good deal of pride, and desired above all things to have you retain the family home. If Iremember correctly, he said you were the last lineal descendant. "

Don nodded pleasantly. 

"The last. Kind of looks as if he wanted me to remain the last. "

"On the contrary, " ventured Barton, "I think he hoped you might marryand--"

"Marry?" broke in Don. "Did you say _marry?_"

"I even understood, from a conversation with your father just beforehis death, that you--er--were even then engaged. Am I mistaken?"

"No; that's true enough. But say--look here. "

The young man reached in his pocket and brought forth a handful ofcrumpled bills and loose change. He counted it carefully. 

"Twelve dollars and sixty-three cents, " he announced. "What do youthink Frances Stuyvesant will say to that?"

Barton refrained from advancing an opinion. 

"What do you think Morton H. Stuyvesant will say?" demanded Don. 

No point of law being involved in the query, Jonas Barton stillrefrained. 

"What do you think Mrs. Morton H. Stuyvesant will say, and all theuncles and aunties and nephews and nieces?"

"Not being their authorized representative, I am not prepared toanswer, " Barton replied. "However, I think I can tell you what yourfather would do under these circumstances. "

"What?" inquired Don. 

"He would place all the facts in the case before the girl, thenbefore her father, and learn just what they had to say. "

"Wrong. He wouldn't go beyond the girl, " answered Don. 

He replaced the change in his pocket. 

"Ah, " he sighed--"them were the happy days. "

"If I remember correctly, " continued Jonas Barton thoughtfully, "twelve dollars and sixty-three cents was fully as much as your fatherpossessed when he asked your mother to marry him. That was just afterhe lost his ship off Hatteras. "

"Yes, them were the happy days, " nodded Don. "But, at that, Dad hadhis nerve with him. "

"He did, " answered Barton. "He had his nerve with him always. "

CHAPTER II

IT BECOMES NECESSARY TO EAT

In spite of the continued efforts of idealists to belittle it, thereis scarcely a fact of human experience capable of more universalsubstantiation than that in order to live it is necessary to eat. Thecorollary is equally true: in order to eat it is necessary to pay. 

Yet until now Pendleton had been in a position to ignore, if not torefute, the latter statement. There was probably no detail of hisdaily existence calling for less thought or effort than this matter ofdining. Opportunities were provided on every hand, --at the houses ofhis friends, at his club, at innumerable cafés and hotels, --and allthat he was asked to contribute was an appetite. 

It was not until he had exhausted his twelve dollars and sixty-threecents that Don was in any position to change his point of view. Butthat was very soon. After leaving the office of Barton & Saltonstallat eleven, he took a taxi to the Harvard Club, which immediately cutdown his capital to ten dollars and thirteen cents. Here he metfriends, Higgins and Watson and Cabot of his class, and soon he haddisposed of another dollar. They then persuaded him to walk part waydowntown with them. On his return, he passed a florist's, and, remembering that Frances was going that afternoon to a _thé dansant_, did the decent thing and sent up a dozen roses, which cost him fivedollars. Shortly after this he passed a confectioner's, and of coursehad to stop for a box of Frances's favorite bonbons, which cost himanother dollar. 

Not that he considered the expense in the least. As long as he wasable to reach in his pocket and produce a bill of sufficient value tocover the immediate investment, that was enough. But it is surprisinghow brief a while ten dollars will suffice in a leisurely stroll onFifth Avenue. Within a block of the confectionery store two cravatsthat took his fancy and a box of cigarettes called for his last bill, and actually left him with nothing but a few odd pieces of silver. Even this did not impress him as significant, because, as ithappened, his wants were for the moment fully satisfied. 

It was a clear October day, and, quite unconscious of the distance, Don continued up the Avenue to Sixtieth Street--to the house where hewas born. In the last ten years he had been away a good deal from thathouse, --four years at Groton, four at Harvard, --but, even so, thehouse had always remained in the background of his consciousness as afixed point. 

Nora opened the door for him, as she had for twenty years. 

"Are you to be here for dinner, sir?" she inquired. 

"No, Nora, " he answered; "I shall dine out to-night. "

Nora appeared uneasy. 

"The cook, sir, has received a letter--a very queer sort of letter, sir--from a lawyer gentleman. "

"Eh?"

"He said she was to keep two accounts, sir: one for the servants'table and one for the house. "

"Oh, that's probably from old Barton. "

"Barton--yes, sir, that was the name. Shall I bring you the letter, sir?"

"Don't bother, Nora. It's all right. He's my new bookkeeper. "

"Very well, sir. Then you'll give orders for what you want?"

"Yes, Nora. "

In the library an open fire was burning brightly on the hearth, asalways it had been kept burning for his father. With his hands behindhis back, he stood before it and gazed around the big room. It seemedcuriously empty with the old man gone. The machinery of the house asadjusted by him still continued to run on smoothly. And yet, where atcertain hours he should have been, he was not. It was uncanny. 

It was a little after one; Don determined to change his clothes andstroll downtown for luncheon--possibly at Sherry's. He was always surethere of running across some one he knew. 

He went to his room and dressed with some care, and then walked downto Forty-fourth Street. Before deciding to enter the dining-room, however, he stood at the entrance a moment to see if there was any onethere he recognized. Jimmy Harndon saw him and rose at once. 

"Hello, Jimmy, " Don greeted him. 

"Hello, Don. You came in the nick of time. Lend me ten, will you?"

"Sure, " answered Don. 

He sought his bill-book. It was empty. For a moment he was confused. 

"Oh, never mind, " said Jimmy, perceiving his embarrassment. "I'll'phone Dad to send it up by messenger. Bit of fool carelessness on mypart. You'll excuse me?"

Harndon hurried off to the telephone. 

Don stared at his empty pocket-book, at the head waiter, who stillstood at the door expectantly, and then replaced the empty wallet inhis pocket. There was no use waiting here any longer. He could notdine, if he wished. Never before in his life had he been confronted bysuch a situation. Once or twice he had been in Harndon's predicament, but that had meant no more to him than it meant to Harndon--nothingbut a temporary embarrassment. The difference now was that Harndoncould still telephone his father and that he could not. Here was asignificant distinction; it was something he must think over. 

Don went on to the Harvard Club. He passed two or three men he knew inthe lobby, but shook his head at their invitation to join them. Hetook a seat by himself before an open fire in a far corner of thelounge. Then he took out his bill-book again, and examined it withsome care, in the hope that a bill might have slipped in among hiscards. The search was without result. Automatically his father'stelephone number suggested itself, but that number now was utterlywithout meaning. A new tenant already occupied those offices--a tenantwho undoubtedly would report to the police a modest request to forwardto the Harvard Club by messenger a hundred dollars. 

He was beginning to feel hungry--much hungrier than he would have feltwith a pocket full of money. Of course his credit at the club wasgood. He could have gone into the dining-room and ordered what hewished. But credit took on a new meaning. Until now it had beennothing but a trifling convenience, because at the end of the month hehad only to forward his bill to his father. But that could not be doneany longer. 

He could also have gone to any one of a dozen men of his acquaintanceand borrowed from five to fifty dollars. But it was one thing toborrow as he had in the past, and another to borrow in his presentcircumstances. He had no right to borrow. The whole basis of hiscredit was gone. 

The situation was, on the face of it, so absurd that the longer hethought it over the more convinced he became that Barton had made somemistake. He decided to telephone Barton. 

It was with a sense of relief that Don found the name of Barton &Saltonstall still in the telephone-book. It would not have surprisedhim greatly if that too had disappeared. It was with a still greatersense of relief that he finally heard Barton's voice. 

"Look here, " he began. "It seems to me there must be some misunderstandingsomewhere. Do you realize that I'm stony broke?"

"Why, no, " answered Barton. "I thought you showed me the matter ofthirteen dollars or so. "

"I did; but that's gone, and all I have now is the matter of thirteencents or so. "

"I'm sorry, " answered Barton. "If a small loan would be of anytemporary advantage--"

"Hang it!" cut in Don. "You don't think I'm trying to borrow, doyou?"

"I beg your pardon. Perhaps you will tell me, then, just what you dowish. "

"I must eat, mustn't I?"

"I consider that a fair presumption. "

"Then what the deuce!"

Don evidently expected this ejaculation to be accepted as a full andconclusive statement. But, as far as Barton was concerned, it was not. "Yes?" he queried. 

"I say, what the deuce?"

"I don't understand. "

"What am I going to do?"

"Oh, I see. You mean, I take it, what must you do in order to provideyourself with funds. "

"Exactly, " growled Don. 

"Of course, the usual method is to work, " suggested Barton. 

"Eh?"

"To find a position with some firm which, in return for your services, is willing to pay you a certain fixed sum weekly or monthly. I offeryou the suggestion for what it is worth. You can think it over. "

"Think it over!" exclaimed Don. "How long do you think I can think onthirteen cents?"

"If you authorize me to act for you, I have no doubt something can bearranged. "

"You seem to hold all the cards. "

"I am merely obeying your father's commands, " Barton hastened toassure him. "Now, can you give me any idea what you have in mind?"

"I'll do anything except sell books, " Don answered promptly. 

"Very well, " concluded Barton. "I'll advise you by mail as soon asanything develops. "

"Thanks. "

"In the mean while, if you will accept a loan--"

"Thanks again, " answered Don; "but I'll go hungry first. " He hung upthe receiver and went back to the lounge. 

CHAPTER III

THE QUEEN WAS IN THE PARLOR

Stuyvesant was proud of his daughter--proud of her beauty, proud ofher ability to dress, proud of her ability to spend money. She gavehim about the only excuse he now had for continuing to hold his seaton the Stock Exchange. The girl was tall and dark and slender, and hadan instinct for clothes that permitted her to follow the vagaries offashion to their extremes with the assurance of a Parisienne, plus acertain Stuyvesant daring that was American. At dinner that night shewore, for Don's benefit, a new French gown that made even him catchhis breath. It was beautiful, but without her it would not have beenbeautiful. Undoubtedly its designer took that into account when hedesigned the gown. 

The dinner was in every way a success, and a credit to the Stuyvesantchef--who, however, it must be said, seldom had the advantage ofcatering to a guest that had not lunched. Stuyvesant was in a goodhumor, Mrs. Stuyvesant pleasantly negative as usual, and Francesradiant. Early in the evening Stuyvesant went off to his club for agame of bridge, and Mrs. Stuyvesant excused herself to write notes. 

"I met Reggie Howland at the tea this afternoon, " said Frances. "Hewas very nice to me. "

"Why shouldn't he be?" inquired Don. 

"I rather thought you would come. Really, when one goes to all thebother of allowing one's self to be engaged, the least one expects isa certain amount of attention from one's fiancée. "

She was standing by the piano, and he went to her side and took herhand--the hand wearing the solitaire that had been his mother's. 

"You're right, " he nodded; "but I was all tied up with business thisafternoon. "

She raised her dark brows a trifle. 

"Business?"

"Lots of it, " he nodded. "Come over here and sit down; I want to tellyou about it. "

He led her to a chair before the open fire. He himself continued tostand with his back to the flames. He was not serious. The situationstruck him now as even funnier than it had in Barton's office. He hadin his pocket just thirteen cents, and yet here he was in Stuyvesant'shouse, engaged to Stuyvesant's daughter. 

"It seems, " he began--"it seems that Dad would have his little jokebefore he died. "

"Yes?" she responded indifferently. She was bored by business of anysort. 

"I had a talk to-day with Barton--his lawyer. Queer old codger, Barton. Seems he's been made my guardian. Dad left him to me in hiswill. He left me Barton, the house, and twelve dollars and sixty-threecents. "

"Yes, Don. "

She did not quite understand why he was going into details. They didnot seem to concern her, even as his fiancée. 

"Of that patrimony I now have thirteen cents left, " Don continued. "See, here it is. "

He removed from his pocket two nickels and three coppers. 

"It doesn't look like much, does it?"

"Oh, Don, " she laughed, "do be serious!"

"I am serious, " he assured her. "I've been serious ever since I wentto Sherry's for lunch, and found I did not have enough for even aclub sandwich. "

"But, Don!" she gasped. 

"It's a fact. I had to leave. "

"Then where _did_ you lunch?"

"I didn't lunch. "

"You mean you did not have enough change to buy something to eat?"

"I had thirteen cents. You can't buy anything with that, can you?"

"I--I don't know. "

Suddenly she remembered how, once on her way home from Chicago, shelost her purse and did not have sufficient change left even to wireher father to meet her. She was forced to walk from the station to thehouse. The experience had always been like a nightmare to her. Sherose and stood before him. 

"But, Don--what are you going to do?"

"I telephoned Barton, and he suggested I take some sort of positionwith a business house. He's going to find something for me. I'm notworrying about that; but what I want to know is what I ought to doabout you. "

"I don't understand, Don. "

"I mean about our engagement. "

She looked puzzled. 

"I'm afraid I'm very stupid. "

"We can't be married on thirteen cents, can we?"

"But we needn't be married until you have more, need we?"

"That's so. And you're willing to wait?"

"You know I've told you I didn't wish to be married before spring, anyway. I think it's much pleasanter staying just as we are. "

"We can't be engaged all our lives, " he protested. 

"We can be engaged as long as we wish, can't we?"

"I want to marry you as soon as I can. "

Her eyes brightened and she placed a soft hand upon his arm. 

"That's nice of you, Don, " she said. "But you don't know what afrightfully expensive burden I'll be as a wife. "

"If I earned, to start with, say fifty dollars a week--would you marryme on that?"

"If I did, what would we live on?" she inquired. 

"Well, I have the house. That's provided for--all except the table. "

"But if I spent the fifty dollars for a new hat, then what would wehave left for provisions?"

"You mustn't spend it all on a new hat, " he warned. 

"Then, there are gowns and--oh, lots of things you don't know anythingabout. "

"Couldn't you get along with a little less?"

She thought a moment. 

"I don't see how, " she decided. "I never get anything I don't want. "

"That's something, " he nodded approvingly. "Then you think I must earnmore than fifty a week?"

"I only know that Dad gives me an allowance of ten thousand a year, and there's never anything left, " she answered. 

"Ten thousand a year!" he exclaimed. 

"Everything is so expensive to-day, Don. All this talk soundsfrightfully vulgar, but--there's no use pretending, is there?"

"Not a bit, " he answered. "If ten thousand a year is what you need, ten thousand a year is what I must earn. "

"I don't believe it's very hard, because Dad does it so easily, " shedeclared. 

"I'll get it, " he nodded confidently. "And, now that it's all settled, let's forget it. Come over to the piano and sing for me. "

He sat down before the keys and played her accompaniments, selectinghis own songs. They ran through some of the latest opera successes, and then swung off to the simpler and older things. It was after"Annie Laurie" that he rose and looked deep into her eyes. 

"I'll get it for you, " he said soberly. 

"Oh, Don!" she whispered. "Sometimes nothing seems important but justyou. "

CHAPTER IV

CONCERNING SANDWICHES

The arrangement that Barton made for his late client's son was toenter the banking house of Carter, Rand & Seagraves, on a salary oftwelve hundred dollars a year. Don found the letter at the HarvardClub the next morning, and immediately telephoned Barton. 

"Look here!" he exclaimed. "I appreciate what you've tried to do andall that, but what in thunder good is twelve hundred dollars a year?"

"It is at least twelve hundred more than you have now, " suggestedBarton. 

"But how can I live on it?"

"You must remember you have the house--"

"Hang the house, " Don interrupted. "I must eat and smoke and buyclothes, mustn't I? Besides, there's Frances. She needs ten thousand ayear. "

"I have no doubt but that, in time, a man of your ability--"

"How long a time?"

"As to that I am not prepared to give an opinion, " replied Barton. 

"Because it isn't when I'm eighty that I want it. "

"I should say the matter was entirely in your own hands. This at leastoffers you an opening, and I advise you to accept it. However, youmust decide for yourself; and if at any later date I may be ofservice--"

Don returned to the lounge to think the matter over. It was teno'clock and he had not yet breakfasted. As he had neglected to sendany provisions to the house, Nora, acting upon his orders of the daybefore, had not prepared anything for him--there was nothing toprepare. 

However, whether he ate breakfast or not was a detail. That is to say, it was a detail when he left the house; but now, after the brisk walkto the club in the snapping cold air, it had grown in importance. Watson, on his way into the dining-room, passed him. 

"Join me?" he asked, waving a greeting with the morning paper. 

"Thanks, " answered Don. "Guess I'll wait a bit. "

Watson went on. 

Don returned to a consideration of Barton's proposal. He was forced toadmit that the old lawyer had an irritating knack of ignoring allincidental issues and stripping a problem to a statement ofirrefutable fact. It was undeniable, for example, that what Don mightdesire in the way of salary did not affect the truth of Barton'scontention that twelve hundred dollars was a great deal more thannothing. With a roof over his head assured him, it was possible thathe might, with economy, be able at least to keep alive on this salary. That, of course, was a matter to be considered. As for Frances, shewas at present well provided for and need not be in the slightestaffected by the smallness of his income. Then, there was thepossibility of a rapid advance. He had no idea how those things werearranged, but his limited observation was to the effect that hisfriends who went into business invariably had all the money theyneeded, and that most of his older acquaintances--friends of hisfather--were presidents and vice-presidents with unlimited bankaccounts. Considering these facts, Don grew decidedly optimistic. 

In the mean time his hunger continued to press him. His body, like agreedy child, demanded food. Watson came out and, lighting a freshcigarette, sank down comfortably into a chair next him. 

"What's the matter, Don--off your feed?" he inquired casually. 

"Something of the sort, " nodded Don. 

"Party last night?"

"No; guess I haven't been getting exercise enough. "

He rose. Somehow, Watson bored him this morning. 

"I'm going to take a hike down the Avenue. S'long. "

Don secured his hat, gloves, and stick, and started from the club at abrisk clip. 

From Forty-fourth Street to the Twenties was as familiar a path as anyin his life. He had traversed it probably a thousand times. Yet, thismorning it suddenly became almost as strange as some street in KansasCity or San Francisco. 

There were three reasons for this, any one of which would haveaccounted for the phenomenon: he was on his way to secure a job; hehad in his pocket just thirteen cents; and he was hungry. 

The stores before which he always stopped for a leisurely inspectionof their contents took on a different air this morning. Quiteautomatically he paused before one and another of them and inspectedthe day's display of cravats and waistcoats. But, with only thirteencents in his pocket, a new element entered into his consideration ofthese things--the element of cost. It was at the florist's that hissituation was brought home to him even more keenly. Frances likedflowers, and she liked to receive them from him. Here were roses thatlooked as if they had been plucked for her. But they were behind a bigplate-glass window. He had never noted before that, besides beingtransparent, plate-glass was also thick and hard. And he was hungry. The fact continually intruded itself. 

At last he reached the address that Barton had given him. "Carter, Rand & Seagraves, Investment Securities, " read the inscription on thewindow. He passed through the revolving doors and entered the office. 

A boy in buttons approached and took his card. 

"Mr. Carter, Mr. Rand, or Mr. Seagraves, " said Don. 

The boy was soon back. 

"Mr. Farnsworth will see you in a few minutes, " he reported. 

"Farnsworth?" inquired Don. 

"He's the gent what sees every one, " explained the boy. "Ticker's overthere. "

He pointed to a small machine upon a stand, which was slowly unfurlingfrom its mouth a long strip of paper such as prestidigitators producefrom silk hats. Don crossed to it, and studied the strip withinterest. It was spattered with cryptic letters and figures, much likethose he had learned to use indifferently well in a freshman course inchemistry. The only ones he recalled just then were H_2O and CO_2, andhe amused himself by watching to see if they turned up. 

"Mr. Pendleton?"

Don turned to find a middle-aged gentleman standing before him withoutstretched hand. 

"Mr. Barton wrote to us about you, " Farnsworth continued briskly. "Ibelieve he said you had no business experience. "

"No, " admitted Don. 

"Harvard man?"

Don named his class. 

"Your father was well known to us. We are willing to take you on for afew months, if you wish to try the work. Of course, until you learnsomething of the business you won't be of much value; but if you'dlike to start at--say twenty-five dollars a week--why, we'd be glad tohave you. "

At the beginning Don had a vague notion of estimating his value atconsiderably more; but Mr. Farnsworth was so decided, it did not seemworth while. At that moment, also, he was reminded again that he hadnot yet breakfasted. 

"Thanks, " he replied. "When shall I begin?"

"Whenever you wish. If you haven't anything on to-day, you might comein now, meet some of the men, and get your bearings. "

"All right, " assented Don. 

Within the next five minutes Farnsworth had introduced him to Blakeand Manson and Wheaton and Powers and Jennings and Chandler. Also toMiss Winthrop, a very busy stenographer. Then he left him in a chairby Powers's desk. Powers was dictating to Miss Winthrop, and Donbecame engrossed in watching the nimbleness of her fingers. 

At the end of his dictation, Powers excused himself and went out, leaving Don alone with Miss Winthrop. For a moment he felt a bituncomfortable; he was not quite sure what the etiquette of a businessoffice demanded in a situation of this sort. Soon, however, herealized that the question was solving itself by the fact that MissWinthrop was apparently oblivious to his presence. If he figured inher consciousness any more than one of the office chairs, she gave noindication of it. She was transcribing from her notebook to thetypewriter, and her fingers moved with marvelous dexterity andsureness. There was a sureness about every other movement, as when sheslipped in a new sheet of paper or addressed an envelope or raisedher head. There was a sureness in her eyes. He found himself quiteunexpectedly staring into them once, and they didn't waver, althoughhe was not quite certain, even then, that they saw him. They werebrown eyes, honest and direct, above a good nose and a mouth that, while retaining its girlish mobility, also revealed an unexpectedtrace of almost manlike firmness. It was a face that interested him, but, before he was able to determine in just what way, she finishedher last letter and, rising abruptly, disappeared into a rear room. Presently she emerged, wearing a hat and coat. 

It was, on the whole, a very becoming hat and a very becoming coat, though they would not have suited at all the critical taste of FrancesStuyvesant. But they had not been designed for that purpose. 

Miss Winthrop paused to readjust a pin and the angle of her hat. Thenshe took a swift glance about the office. 

"I guess the boys must have gone, " she said to Don. "This is the lunchhour. "

Don rose. 

"Thank you for letting me know, " he replied cordially. 

"Most of them get back at one, " she informed him. 

"Then you think I may go out until then?"

"I don't see why not. But I'd be back at one sharp if I were you. "

"Thanks, I will. "

Don gave her an opportunity to go out the door and disappear before hehimself followed. He had a notion that she could have told him, had heasked, where in this neighborhood it was possible to get the most foodfor the least money. He had a notion, also, that such a question wouldnot have shocked her. It was difficult to say by just what process hereached this conclusion, but he felt quite sure of it. 

Don was now firmly determined to invest a portion of his thirteencents in something to eat. It had no longer become a matter ofvolition, but an acute necessity. For twenty minutes he wandered aboutrather aimlessly; then, in a sort of alley, he found a dairy lunchwhere in plain figures coffee was offered at five cents a cup, and eggsandwiches at the same price. The place was well filled, but he wasfortunate in slipping into a chair against the wall just as a man wasslipping out. It was a chair where one broad arm served as a table. Next to him sat a young woman in a black hat, munching a chocolateéclair. She looked up as he sat down, and frowned. Don rose at once. 

"I'm sorry, " he said. "I didn't know you were here. Honest I didn't. "

"Well, it's a public lunch, isn't it?" she inquired. "I'm almostthrough. "

"Then you don't mind if I stay?"

"It's no business of mine, " she said curtly. 

"But I don't want you to think I--I'm intruding. "

She glanced at him again. 

"Let's forget it, " she decided. "But you might sit there all day andyou wouldn't get anything to eat. "

He looked around, uncertain as to just what she meant. 

"You go to the counter, pick out what you want, and bring it backhere, " she explained. "I'll hold your seat for you. "

Don made his way into the crowd at the rear. At the counter he foundhe had for ten cents a wide choice; but her éclair had looked so goodhe selected one of those and a cup of coffee. In returning he lost aportion of the coffee, but he brought the éclair through safely. Hedeposited it on the arm of the chair and sat down. In spite of hisutmost effort at self-control, that éclair made just four mouthfuls. It seemed to him that he had no more than picked up his fork than itwas gone. However, he still had his coffee, and he settled back toenjoy that in a more temperate fashion. 

Without apparently taking the slightest interest in him, Miss Winthropobserved the rapidity with which he concluded his lunch. She knewsomething about being hungry, and if she was any judge that tidbitproduced no more impression upon this six-foot man than a peanut on anelephant. 

"That all you're going to eat?" she demanded. 

Don was startled. The question was both unexpected and pointed. He mether eyes--brown eyes and very direct. The conventional explanationthat he had ready about not caring for much in the middle of the dayseemed scarcely worth while. 

"Yes, " he answered. 

"Broke?" she inquired. 

He nodded. 

"Then you ought to have had an egg sandwich instead of one of thosethings, " she informed him. 

"But the one you had looked so good, " he smiled. 

"I had an egg sandwich to start with; this was dessert. "

"I didn't know, " he apologized. 

"You ought to get one now. You won't last until night on just that. "

"How much are they?" he inquired. 

"A nickel. "

"Then I guess I won't have one. "

"Haven't you five cents?" she cross-examined. 

"Only three cents, " he answered. 

"And you begin work to-day?"

"Yes. "

"It's only Tuesday, and you won't get paid until Saturday. "

"So?"

"Do you expect to make that éclair go until then?"

"I hadn't thought much about it, " he answered uneasily. 

"You don't look as if you would, " she said. "You are new to this, aren't you?"

"Yes. "

He did not resent her questioning; and it did not occur to him to giveher an evasive reply. 

"Just out of college?"

"Last fall. "

"What you been doing since then?"

"Why, nothing, " he admitted. "You see, my father died only last month, and--"

"Oh, I see, " she said more gently. "That's hard luck. "

"It makes a good deal of a difference, " he said. 

"I know. "

It had made a difference in her life when her father died. 

She turned to her éclair; but, as she was raising the fork to herlips, she caught his eyes and put it down again. 

"Look here, " she said; "you must eat something. You can't get alongwithout food. I've tried it. "

"You!" he exclaimed. 

"Indeed, yes. "

"Dieting?"

"Hardly, " she replied grimly. 

He had heard of men going perforce without food, but he did notremember ever having heard of a woman in that predicament. Certainlyhe had never before met one. 

"You mean that you've gone broke, too?"

"Why, certainly, " she answered. "The firm I was with first went broke, and it was a couple of months before I found another position. Butthat's over now. What I want to know is what _you're_ going to dountil Saturday. "

"Oh, I'll worry along, " he answered confidently. 

She shook her head. 

"Worry won't carry you along. "

She hesitated a moment, and then said impulsively:--

"Now, look here--don't get peeved at what I'm going to say, willyou?"

"I don't believe it's possible to get peeved with you, " he declared. 

She frowned. 

"Well, let it go at that. What I want to do is to lend you a couple ofdollars until Saturday. It isn't much, but--"

Don caught his breath. "You--"

She did not give him time to finish. From somewhere she produced atwo-dollar bill and slipped it into his hand. 

"Take this and get an egg sandwich right now. "

"But look here--"

"Don't talk. Go get a sandwich. "

He seemed to have no alternative; but when he came back with it shehad disappeared. 

He sat down, but he could not understand why she should have gone likethat. He missed her--missed her more than he would have thoughtpossible, considering that he had met her only some two hours before. Without her this place seemed empty and foreign. Without her he feltuneasy here. He hurried through his sandwich and went out--anxious toget back to her. 

CHAPTER V

BUSINESS

When Don came back to the office he found Miss Winthrop again at hertypewriter, but she did not even glance up as he took his former placeat Powers's desk. If this was not particularly flattering, it at leastgave him the privilege of watching her. But it was rather curious thathe found in this enough to hold his attention for half an hour. It isdoubtful whether he could have watched Frances herself for so long atime without being bored. 

It was the touch of seriousness about the girl's eyes and mouth thatnow set him to wondering--a seriousness that he had sometimes noted inthe faces of men who had seen much of life. 

Life--that was the keynote. He felt that she had been in touch withlife, and had got the better of it: that there had been drama in herpast, born of contact with men and women. She had been dealing withsuch problems as securing food--and his experience of the lasttwenty-four hours had hinted at how dramatic that may be; withsecuring lodgings for the night; with the problem of earning not moremoney but enough money to keep her alive. All this had left its mark, not in ugliness, but in a certain seriousness that made him keen toknow about her. Here was a girl who was not especially concerned withoperas, with books, with the drama, but with the stuff of which thosethings are made. 

Miss Winthrop removed from her typewriter the final page of the longletter she had finished and rapidly went over it for errors. She foundnone. But, as she gathered her papers together before taking them intothe private office of Mr. Farnsworth, she spoke. She spoke withouteven then glancing at Don--as if voicing a thought to herself. 

"Believe me, " she said, "they are not going to pay you for sittingthere and watching me. "

Don felt the color spring to his cheeks. 

"I beg your pardon, " he apologized. 

"It doesn't bother me any, " she continued, as she rose. "Only thereisn't any money for the firm in that sort of thing. "

"But there doesn't seem to be anything around here for me to do. "

"Then make something, " she concluded, as she moved away. 

Blake, to whom he had been introduced, was sitting at his desk readingan early edition of an evening paper. Spurred on by her admonition, hestrolled over there. Blake glanced up with a nod. 

"How you making it?" he inquired. 

"There doesn't seem to be much for me to do, " said Don. "Can yousuggest anything?"

"Farnsworth will dig up enough for you later on. I wouldn't worryabout that. "

"But I don't know anything about the game. "

"You'll pick it up. Did I understand Farnsworth to say you wereHarvard?"

"Yes. "

"I'm Princeton. Say, what sort of a football team have you thisyear?"

Don knew football. He had played right end on the second team. He alsoknew Princeton, and if the information he gave Blake about the teamever went back to New Jersey it did not do the coaching staff thereany good. However, it furnished a subject for a pleasant half hour'sconversation. Then Blake went out, and Don returned to his formerplace back of Powers's desk. 

"I'll bet you didn't get much out of him, " observed Miss Winthrop, without interrupting the click of her machine. 

"He seems rather a decent sort, " answered Don. 

"Perhaps he is, " she returned. 

"He's a Princeton man, " Don informed her. 

"He's Percy A. Blake, " she declared--as if that were a fact ofconsiderably more importance. 

He waited to see if she was ready to volunteer any further information, but apparently she considered this sufficient. 

At that point Farnsworth came out and took a look about the office. His eyes fell upon Don, and he crossed the room. 

He handed Don a package. 

"I wish you would deliver these to Mr. Hayden, of Hayden & Wigglesworth, "he requested. 

Farnsworth returned to his office, leaving Don staring helplessly atthe package in his hands. 

"For Heaven's sake, get busy!" exclaimed Miss Winthrop. 

"But where can I find Mr. Hayden?" inquired Don. 

"Get out of the office and look up the firm in a directory, " shereturned sharply. "But hustle out of here just as if you did know. "

Don seized his hat and obeyed. He found himself on the street, quiteas ignorant of where to find a directory as he was of where to findMr. Hayden, of Hayden & Wigglesworth. But in rounding a corner--stillat full speed--he ran into a messenger boy. 

"Take me to the office of Hayden & Wigglesworth and there's a quarterin it for you, " he offered. 

"I'm on, " nodded the boy. 

The office was less than a five minutes' walk away. In another twominutes Don had left his package with Mr. Hayden's clerk and was backagain in his own office. 

"Snappy work, " Miss Winthrop complimented him. "The closing pricesmust be out by now. You'd better look them over. "

"Closing prices of what?" he inquired. 

"The market, of course. Ask Eddie--the boy at the ticker. He'll giveyou a sheet. "

So Don went over and asked Eddie, and was handed a list of closingquotations--which, for all he was concerned, might have been footballsignals. However, he sat down and looked them over, and continued tolook them over until Farnsworth passed him on his way home. 

"You may as well go now, " Farnsworth said. "You'll be here at nineto-morrow?"

"Nine to-morrow, " nodded Don. 

He returned to Miss Winthrop's desk. 

"He says I may go now, " he reported. 

"Then I'd go, " she advised. 

"But I--I want to thank you. "

"For Heaven's sake, don't!" she exploded. "I'm busy. "

"Good-night. "

"Good-night. "

He took the Subway back to the Grand Central, and walked from there tothe club. Here he found a message from Frances:--

Dad sent up a box for the theater to-night. Will you come to dinnerand go with us?

When Don, after dressing, left his house for the Stuyvesants' thatevening, it was with a curious sense of self-importance. He now hadthe privilege of announcing to his friends that he was in business inNew York--in the banking business--with Carter, Rand & Seagraves, as amatter of fact. He walked with a freer stride and swung his stick witha jauntier air than he had yesterday. 

He was full of this when, a few minutes before dinner, Frances sweptdown the stairs. 

"I'm glad you could come, Don, " she said. "But where in the world haveyou been all day?"

"Downtown, " he answered. "I'm with Carter, Rand & Seagraves now. "

He made the announcement with considerable pride. 

"Poor Don!" she murmured. "But, if you're going to do that sort ofthing, I suppose you might as well be with them as any one. I wonderif that Seagraves is Dolly Seagraves's father. "

For a second he was disappointed--he had expected more enthusiasm fromher. 

"I haven't met the families of the firm yet, " he answered. 

"I thought you knew Dolly. I'll ask her up for my next afternoon, tomeet you. "

"But I can't come in the afternoon, Frances. "

"How stupid! You're to be downtown all day?"

"From nine to three or later. "

"I'm not sure I'm going to like that. "

"Then you'll have to speak to Farnsworth, " he laughed. 

"Farnsworth?"

"He's the manager. "

"I imagine he's very disagreeable. Oh, Don, please hurry and make yourfortune and have it over with!"

"You ought to give me more than one day, anyhow. "

"I'll give you till June, " she smiled. "I really got sort of homesickfor you to-day, Don. "

"Honest?"

"Honest, Don. I've no business to tell you such a secret, but it'strue. "

"I'm glad you told me, " he answered soberly. "What have you been doingall day?"

"I had a stupid morning at the tailor's, and a stupid bridge in theafternoon at the Martins'. Oh, I lost a disgraceful lot of money. "

"How much?" he inquired. 

She shook her head. "I won't tell; but that's why I told Dad he musttake me to see something cheerful this evening. "

"Tough luck, " he sympathized. 

They went in to dinner. Afterward the Stuyvesant car took them all toa vaudeville house, and there, from the rear of a box, Don watchedwith indifferent interest the usual vaudeville turns. To tell thetruth, he would have been better satisfied to have sat at the piano athome and had Frances sing to him. There were many things he had wishedto talk over with her. He had not told her about the other men he hadmet, his adventure on his first business assignment, his search for aplace to lunch, or--Miss Winthrop. Until that moment he had notthought of her himself. 

A singing team made their appearance and began to sing sentimentalballads concerned with apple blossoms in Normandy. Don's thoughtswent back, strangely enough, to the white-tiled restaurant in thealley. He smiled as he contrived a possible title for a popular songof this same nature. "The White-Tiled Restaurant in the Alley" itmight read, and it might have something to do with "Sally. "Perhaps Miss Winthrop's first name was Sally--it fitted her wellenough. She had been funny about that chocolate éclair. And she hadlent him two dollars. Unusual incident, that! He wondered where shewas to-night--where she went after she left the office at night. Perhaps she was here. He leaned forward to look at the faces of peoplein the audience. Then the singing stopped, and a group of Japaneseacrobats occupied the stage. 

Frances turned, suppressing a yawn. 

"I suppose one of them will hang by his teeth in a minute, " sheobserved. "I wish he wouldn't. It makes me ache. "

"It is always possible to leave, " he suggested. 

"But Mother so enjoys the pictures. "

"Then, by all means, let's stay. "

"They always put them at the end. Oh, dear me, I don't think I shallever come again. "

"I enjoyed the singing, " he confessed. 

"Oh, Don, it was horrible!"

"Still, that song about the restaurant in the alley--"

"The _what?_" she exclaimed. 

"Wasn't it that or was it apple blossoms? Anyhow, it was good. "

"Of course there's no great difference between restaurants in alleysand apple blossoms in Normandy!" she commented. 

"Not so much as you'd think, " he smiled. 

It was eleven before they were back at the house. Then Stuyvesantwanted a rarebit and Frances made it, so that it was after one beforeDon reached his own home. 

Not until Nora, in obedience to a note he had left downstairs for her, called him at seven-thirty the next morning did Don realize he hadkept rather late hours for a business man. Bit by bit, the events ofyesterday came back to him; and in the midst of it, quite the centralfigure, stood Miss Winthrop. It was as if she were warning him not tobe late. He jumped from bed. 

But, even at that, it was a quarter-past eight before he camedownstairs. Nora was anxiously waiting for him. 

"You did not order breakfast, sir, " she reminded him. 

"Why, that's so, " he admitted. 

"Shall I prepare it for you now?"

"Never mind. I haven't time to wait, anyway. You see, I must bedowntown at nine. I'm in business, Nora. "

"Yes, sir; but you should eat your breakfast, sir. "

He shook his head. "I think I'll try going without breakfast thisweek. Besides, I didn't send up any provisions. "

Nora appeared uneasy. She did not wish to be bold, and yet she did notwish her late master's son to go downtown hungry. 

"An egg and a bit of toast, sir? I'm sure the cook could spare that. "

"Out of her own breakfast?"

"I--I beg your pardon, sir, " stammered Nora; "but it's all part of thehouse, isn't it?"

"No, " he answered firmly. "We must play the game fair, Nora. "

"And dinner, sir?"

"Dinner? Let's not worry about that as early in the morning as this. "

He started to leave, but at the door turned again. 

"If you should want me during the day, you'll find me at my officewith Carter, Rand & Seagraves. Better write that down. "

"I will, sir. "

"Good-day, Nora. "

Don took the Subway this morning, in company with several hundredthousand others for whom this was as much a routine part of theirdaily lives as the putting on of a hat. He had seen all these peoplecoming and going often enough before, but never before had he felthimself as coming and going with them. Now he was one of them. He didnot resent it. In fact, he felt a certain excitement about it. But itwas new--almost foreign. 

It was with some difficulty that he found his way from the station tohis office. This so delayed him that he was twenty minutes late. MissWinthrop, who was hard at work when he entered, paused a second toglance at the watch pinned to her dress. 

"I'm only twenty minutes late, " he apologized to her. 

"A good many things can happen around Wall Street in twenty minutes, "she answered. 

"I guess I'll have to leave the house a little earlier. "

"I'd do something to get here on time, " she advised. "Out late lastnight?"

"Not very. I was in bed a little after one. "

"I thought so. "

"Why?"

"You look it. "

She brought the conversation to an abrupt end by resuming her work. 

He wanted to ask her in just what way he looked it. He felt a bithollow; but that was because he hadn't breakfasted. His eyes, too, were still a little heavy; but that was the result, not of getting tobed late, but of getting up too early. 

She, on the other hand, appeared fresher than she had yesterday atnoon. Her eyes were brighter and there was more color in her cheeks. Don had never seen much of women in the forenoon. As far as he wasconcerned, Frances did not exist before luncheon. But what experiencehe had led him to believe that Miss Winthrop was an exception--thatmost women continued to freshen toward night and were at their best atdinner-time. 

"Mr. Pendleton. " It was Eddie. "Mr. Farnsworth wants to see you in hisoffice. "

Farnsworth handed Don a collection of circulars describing some of thesecurities the firm was offering. 

"Better familiarize yourself with these, " he said briefly. "If thereis anything in them you don't understand, ask one of the other men. "

That was all. In less than three minutes Don was back again atPowers's desk. He glanced through one of the circulars, which had todo with a certain electric company offering gold bonds at a price tonet four and a half. He read it through once and then read it throughagain. It contained a great many figures--figures running into themillions, whose effect was to make twenty-five dollars a week shrinkinto insignificance. On the whole, it was decidedly depressingreading--the more so because he did not understand it. 

He wondered what Miss Winthrop did when she was tired, where she livedand how she lived, if she played bridge, if she spent her summersabroad, who her parents were, whether she was eighteen or twenty-twoor -three, and if she sang. All of which had nothing to do with theaffairs of the company that wished to dispose of its gold bonds at aprice to net four and a half. 

At twelve Miss Winthrop rose from her machine and sought her hat inthe rear of the office. At twelve-five she came back, passed him as ifhe had been an empty chair, and went out the door. At twelve-ten hefollowed. He made his way at once to the restaurant in the alley. Shewas not in the chair she had occupied yesterday, but farther back. Happily, the chair next to her was empty. 

"Will you hold this for me?" he asked. 

"Better drop your hat in it, " she suggested rather coldly. 

He obeyed the suggestion, and a minute later returned with a cup ofcoffee and an egg sandwich. She was gazing indifferently across theroom as he sat down, but he called her attention to his lunch. 

"You see, I got one of these things to-day. "

"So?"

"Do you eat it with a fork or pick it up in your fingers?" he asked. 

She turned involuntarily to see if he was serious. She could not tell, but it was a fact he looked perplexed. 

"Oh, pick it up in your fingers, " she exclaimed. "But look here; areyou coming here every day?"

"Sure, " he nodded. "Why not?"

"Because, if you are, I'm going to find another place. "

"You--what?" he gasped. 

"I'm going to find another place. "

The sandwich was halfway to his lips. He put it down again. 

"What have I done?" he demanded. 

She was avoiding his eyes. 

"Oh, it isn't you, " she answered. "But if the office ever foundout--"

"Well, " he insisted. 

"It would make a lot of talk, that's all, " she concluded quickly. "Ican't afford it. "

"Whom would they talk about?"

"Oh, they wouldn't talk about you--that's sure. "

"They would talk about you?"

"They certainly would. "

"What would they say?"

"You think it over, " she replied. "The thing you want to remember isthat I'm only a stenographer there, and you--well, if you make goodyou'll be a member of the firm some day. "

"I don't see what that has to do with where you eat or where I eat. "

"It hasn't, as long as we don't eat at the same place. Can't you seethat?"

She raised her eyes and met his. 

"I see now, " he answered soberly. "They'll think I'm getting freshwith you?"

"They'll think I'm letting you get fresh, " she answered, lowering hereyes. 

"But you don't think that yourself?"

"I don't know, " she answered slowly. "I used to think I could tell;but now--oh, I don't know!"

"But good Heavens! you've been a regular little trump to me. You'veeven lent me the money to buy my lunches with. Do you think any mancould be so low down--"

"Those things aren't fit to eat when they're cold, " she warned him. 

He shoved his plate aside and leaned toward her. "Do you think--"

"No, no, no!" she exclaimed. "Only, it isn't what _I_ think thatmatters. "

"That's the only thing in this case that does matter, " he returned. 

"You wait until you know Blake, " she answered. 

"Of course, if any one is to quit here, it is I, " he said. 

"You'd better stay where you are, " she answered. "I know a lot ofother places just like this. "

"Well, I can find them, can't I?"

She laughed--a contagious little laugh. 

"I'm not so sure, " she replied. 

"You don't think much of my ability, do you?" he returned, somewhatnettled. 

She lifted her eyes at that. 

"If you want to know the truth, " she said, "I do. And I've seen a lotof 'em come and go. "

He reacted curiously to this unexpected praise. His color heightenedand unconsciously he squared his shoulders. 

"Thanks, " he said. "Then you ought to trust me to be able to findanother lunch-place. Besides, you forget I found this myself. Are yougoing to have an éclair to-day?"

She nodded and started to rise. 

"Sit still; I'll get it for you. "

Before she could protest he was halfway to the counter. She sat backin her chair with an expression that was half-frown and half-smile. 

When he came back she slipped a nickel upon the arm of his chair. 

"What's this for?" he demanded. 

"For the éclair, of course. "

"You--you needn't have done that. "

"I'll pay my own way, thank you, " she answered, her face hardening alittle. 

"Now you're offended again?"

"No; only--oh, can't you see we--I must find another place?"

"No, I don't, " he answered. 

"Then that proves it, " she replied. "And now I'm going back to theoffice. "

He rose at once to go with her. 

"Please to sit right where you are for five minutes, " she begged. 

He sat down again and watched her as she hurried out the door. Themoment she disappeared the place seemed curiously empty--curiouslyempty and inane. He stared at the white-tiled walls, at the heaps ofpastry upon the marble counter, prepared as for wholesale. Yet, aslong as she sat here with him, he had noticed none of those details. For all he was conscious of his surroundings, they might have beenlunching together in that subdued, pink-tinted room where he so oftentook Frances. 

He started as he thought of her. Then he smiled contentedly. He musthave Frances to lunch with him in the pink-tinted dining-room nextSaturday. 

CHAPTER VI

TWO GIRLS

That night, when Miss Winthrop took her place in the Elevated on herway to the uptown room that made her home, she dropped her eveningpaper in her lap, and, chin in hand, stared out of the window. Thatwas decidedly unusual. It was so unusual that a young man who hadtaken this same train with her month after month, and who had rather akeen eye for such things, noticed for the first time that she had inprofile rather an attractive face. She was wondering just howdifferent this Pendleton was from the other men she met. Putting asidefor a moment all generalizations affecting the sex as a whole, he wasnot like any of them. For the first time in a long while she foundherself inclined to accept a man for just what he appeared to be. Itwas difficult not to believe in Pendleton's eyes, and still moredifficult not to believe in his smile, which made her smile back. Andyet, if she had learned anything, those were the very things in a manshe had learned to question. 

Not that she was naturally cynical, but her downtown experience hadleft her very skeptical about her ability to judge men from suchdetails. Blake, for instance, could smile as innocently as a child andmeet any woman's eyes without flinching. But there was this differencebetween Blake and Pendleton: the latter was new to New York. He wasfresh to the city, as four years ago she had been. In those days shehad dreamed of such a man as Pendleton--a dream that she was sure shehad long since forgotten. Four years was a long while. It gave herrather a motherly feeling as she thought of Pendleton from thatdistance. And she rather enjoyed that. It left her freer to continuethinking of him. This she did until she was almost carried beyond herstreet. 

After that she almost forgot to stop at the delicatessen store for herrolls and butter and cold meat. She hurried with them to herroom--hurried because she was anxious to reach the place where she wasmore at liberty than anywhere else on earth. She tossed aside her hatand coat and sat by the radiator to warm her hands. 

She wondered if Pendleton would go the same way Blake had gone. It wasso very easy to go the one way or the other. Farnsworth himself neverhelped. His theory was to allow new men to work out their ownsalvation, and to fire them if they did not. He had done that withyoung Brown, who came in last year; and it had seemed to her then apity--though she had never liked Brown. This was undoubtedly what hewould do with Pendleton. 

But supposing--well, why shouldn't she take an interest in Pendletonto the extent of preventing such a finish if she could? There need benothing personal in such an interest; she could work it out as anexperiment. 

Miss Winthrop, now thoroughly warm, began to prepare her supper. Shespread a white cloth upon her table, which was just large enough toseat one. She placed upon this one plate, one cup and saucer, oneknife and fork and spoon. It was a very simple matter to preparesupper for one. She sliced her small portion of cold meat and placedthis on the table. She removed her rolls from a paper bag and placedthem beside the cold meat. By this time the hot water was ready, andshe took a pinch of tea, put it in her tea-ball, and poured hot waterover it in her cup. Then she took her place in the one chair. 

But, oddly enough, although there was no place for him, another seemedto be with her in the room. 

 * * * * *

"Let me have your engagement-book a moment, " Frances requested. 

Don complied. He had taken his dinner that night at the dairy lunch, and after returning to the house to dress had walked to hisfiancée's. 

Frances puckered her brows. 

"You are to have a very busy time these next few weeks, " she informedhim. "Let me see--to-day is Wednesday. On Friday we are to go to theMoores'. Evelyn's débutante dance, you know. "

She wrote it in his book. 

"On Saturday we go to the opera. The Warringtons have asked us to abox party. "

She wrote that. 

"Next Wednesday comes the Stanley cotillion. Have you received yourinvitation?"

"Haven't seen it, " he answered. 

"The Stanleys are always unpardonably late, but I helped Elise makeout her list. On the following Friday we dine at the Westons'. "

She wrote that. 

"On the following Saturday I'm to give a box party at the opera--theMoores and Warringtons. "

She added that, and looked over the list. 

"And I suppose, after going to this trouble, I'll have to remind youall over again on the day of each event. "

"Oh, I don't know; but--" He hesitated. 

"Well?" she demanded. 

"Seems to me we are getting pretty gay, aren't we?"

"Don't talk like an old man!" she scolded. "So far, this has been avery stupid season. "

"But--"

"Well?"

"You know, now I'm in business--"

"Please don't remind me of that any more than is necessary, " sheinterrupted. 

"Oh, all right; only, I do have to get up in the morning. "

"Why remind me of that? It's disagreeable enough having to think of iteven occasionally. "

"But I do, you know. "

"I know it, Don. Honestly I do. "

She seated herself on the arm of his chair, with an arm about his neckand her cheek against his hair. 

"And I think it quite too bad, " she assured him--"which is why I don'tlike to talk about it. "

She sprang to her feet again. 

"Now, Don, you must practice with me some of the new steps. You'll getvery rusty if you don't. "

"I'd rather hear you sing, " he ventured. 

"This is much more important, " she replied. 

She placed a Maxixe record on the Victrola that stood by the piano;then she held out her arms to him. 

"Poor old hard-working Don!" she laughed as he rose. 

It was true that it was as poor old hard-working Don he moved towardher. But there was magic in her lithe young body; there was magic inher warm hand; there was magic in her swimming eyes. As he fell intothe rhythm of the music and breathed the incense of her hair, he waswhirled into another world--a world of laughter and melody andcare-free fairies. But the two most beautiful fairies of all were hertwo beautiful eyes, which urged him to dance faster and faster, andwhich left him in the end stooping, with short breaths, above herupturned lips. 

CHAPTER VII

ROSES

When Miss Winthrop changed her mind and consented not to seek a newluncheon place, she was taking a chance, and she knew it. If everBlake heard of the new arrangement, --and he was sure to hear of it ifany one ever saw her there with Don, --she was fully aware how he wouldinterpret it to the whole office. 

She was taking a chance, and she knew it--knew it with a curious senseof elation. She was taking a chance for him. This hour at noon was theonly opportunity she had of talking to Don. If she let that pass, thenshe could do nothing more for him. She must stand back and watch himgo his own way, as others had gone their way. 

For one thing was certain: she could allow no further conversations inthe office. She had been forced to stop those, and had warned him thathe must not speak to her again there except on business, and that hemust not sit at Powers's desk and watch her at work. When he hadchallenged her for a reason, she had blushed; then she had repliedsimply:--

"It isn't business. "

So, when on Saturday morning Don came in heavy-eyed for lack of sleepafter the Moore dance, she merely looked up and nodded and went onwith her work. But she studied him a dozen times when he did not knowshe was studying him, and frowned every time he suppressed, withdifficulty, a yawn. He appeared tired--dead tired. 

For the first time in months she found herself looking forward tothe noon hour. She glanced at her watch at eleven-thirty, ateleven-forty-five, and again at five minutes before twelve. 

To-day she reserved a seat for him in the little lunch-room. But atfifteen minutes past twelve, when Don usually strode in the door, hehad not come. At twenty minutes past he had not come. If he did notcome in another five minutes she resolved to make no further effort tokeep his place--either to-day or at any future time. At first she wasirritated; then she was worried. It was possible he was lunching withBlake. If he began that--well, she would be freed of all furtherresponsibility, for one thing. But at this point Don entered. He madeno apologies for having kept her waiting, but deposited in the emptychair, as he went off for his sandwich and coffee, a long, narrow boxdone up in white paper. She gave him time to eat a portion of hislunch before she asked:--

"Out late again last night?"

"Went to a dance, " he nodded. 

She was relieved to hear that. It was a better excuse than some, butstill it was not a justifiable excuse for a man who needed all hisenergies. 

"You didn't get enough sleep, then. "

"I should say not, " Don admitted cheerfully. "In bed at four and up atseven. "

"You look it. "

"And I feel it. "

"You can't keep that up long. "

"Sunday's coming, and I'm going to sleep all day, " he declared. 

"But what's the use of getting into that condition?" she inquired. 

He thought a moment. 

"Well, I don't suppose a man can cut off everything just because he'sin business. "

"That's part of the business--at the beginning, " she returned. 

"To work all the time?"

"To work all the time, " she nodded. "I wish I had your chance. "

"My chance to work?" he laughed. 

"Your chance to get ahead, " she answered. "It's all so easy--for aman!"

"Easy?"

"You don't have to do anything but keep straight and keep at work. Youought to have taken those circulars home with you last night andlearned them by heart. "

"I've read 'em. But, hang it all, they don't mean anything. "

"Then find out what they mean. Keep at it until you do find out. Thefirm isn't going to pay you for what you _don't_ know. "

"But last night--well, a man has to get around a little bit. "

"Around where?" she questioned him. 

"Among his friends. Doesn't he?"

She hesitated. 

"It seems to me you'll have to choose between dances and business. "

"Eh?"

She nodded. 

"Between dances and business. I tell you, this next six months isgoing to count a lot on how you make good with Farnsworth. "

"Well, he isn't the only one, " he said. 

"He's the only one in this office--I know what I'm talking about. "

"But outside the office--"

She put down her fork. 

"I don't know why I'm mixing up in your business, " she declaredearnestly. "Except that I've been here three years now, and have seenmen come and go. Every time they've gone it has been clear as daylightwhy they went. Farnsworth is square. He hasn't much heart in him, buthe's square. And he has eyes in the back of his head. "

She raised her own eyes and looked swiftly about the room as if shehalf-expected to discover him here. 

"What's the matter?" he inquired. 

She did not answer his question, but as she ran on again she loweredher voice:--

"You've been in his office to-day?"

"He gave me some more circulars, " Don admitted. 

"Then you'd better believe he knew you didn't get to bed last nightuntil 4 a. M. And you'd better believe he has tucked that away in hismind somewhere. "

Don appeared worried. 

"He didn't say anything. "

"No, he didn't say anything. He doesn't say anything until he has awhole collection of those little things. Even then he doesn't saymuch; but what he does say--counts. "

"You don't think he's getting ready to fire me?" he asked anxiously. 

"He's always getting ready, " she answered. "He's always getting readyto fire or advance you. That's the point, " she went on more earnestly. "What I don't understand is why the men who come in here aren'tgetting ready too. I don't see why they don't play the game. I mightstay with the firm twenty years and I'd still be pounding atypewriter. But you--"

She raised her eyes to his. She saw that Don's had grown less dull, and her own warmed with this initial success. 

"You used to play football, didn't you?" she asked. 

"A little. "

"Then you ought to know something about doing things hard; and youought to know something about keeping in training. "

"But look here, it seems to me you take this mighty seriously. "

"Farnsworth does, " she corrected. "That's why he's getting tenthousand a year. "

The figures recalled a vivid episode. 

"Ten thousand a year, " he repeated after her. "Is that what hedraws?"

"That's what they say. Anyway, he's worth it. "

"And you think I--I might make a job like that?"

"I'll bet I'd try for it if I were in your boots, " she answeredearnestly. 

"I'll bet you'd land it if you were in my boots. " He raised hiscoffee-cup. "Here's to the ten thousand a year, " he drank. 

Miss Winthrop rose. She had talked more than she intended, and wassomewhat irritated at herself. If, for a second, she thought she hadaccomplished something, she did not think so now, as he too rose andsmiled at her. He handed her the pasteboard box. 

"Your two dollars is in there, " he explained. 

She looked perplexed. 

"Shall I wait five minutes?"

"Yes, " she answered, as he thrust the box into her hands. 

That box worried her all the afternoon. Not having a chance to openit, she hid it beneath her desk, where it distracted her thoughtsuntil evening. Of course she could not open it on the Elevated, so itlay in her lap, still further to distract her thoughts on the wayhome. It seemed certain that a two-dollar bill could not occupy allthat space. 

She did not wait even to remove her hat before opening it in her room. She found a little envelope containing her two-dollar bill nestling infive dollars' worth of roses. 

It was about as foolish a thing as she had ever known a man to do. 

She placed the flowers on the table when she had her supper. All nightlong they filled the room with their fragrance. 

CHAPTER VIII

A MAN OF AFFAIRS

When, with some eighteen dollars in his pocket, Don on Sunday orderedNora to prepare for him on that day and during the following week abreakfast of toast, eggs, and coffee, he felt very much a man ofaffairs. He was paying for his own sustenance, and with the firstmoney he had ever earned. He drew from his pocket a ten-dollar bill, afive-dollar bill, a two-dollar bill, and some loose change. 

"Pick out what you need, " he ordered, as he held the money towardher. 

"I don't know how much it will be, sir. I'll ask the cook, sir. "

"Very well; ask the cook. About dinners--I think I'd better wait untilI see how I'm coming out. Dinners don't matter so much, any way, because they come after I'm through work. "

Don ate his breakfast in the dining-room before the open fire, as hisfather used to do. In smoking-jacket and slippered feet, he enjoyedthis as a rare luxury--even this matter of breakfasting at home, whichuntil now had been merely a negative detail of routine. 

When he had finished he drew his chair closer to the flames andlighted a cigarette. He had been cutting down on cigarettes. He hadalways bought them by the hundred; he was now buying them by the box. Until this week he never realized that they represented money. He waspaying now twenty-five cents for a box of ten; and twenty-five cents, as he had learned in the restaurant in the alley, was a sum of moneywith tremendous possibilities. It would buy, for one thing, five eggsandwiches; and five egg sandwiches would keep a man from beinguncomfortably hungry a good many hours. 

Thus a quarter, from being merely an odd piece of loose change, tookon a vital, tangible character of its own. Translated into smokes, itgave a smoke a new value. He had started in to make a box ofcigarettes last a day; but he was now resolved to make them last twodays. This allowed him one after each meal and two in the evening. 

If at first he had considered this a hardship, he was beginning toappreciate the fact that it had its compensating advantages. Thismorning, for instance, he felt that he had never tasted such goodtobacco in his life. Like his breakfast, it was a pleasure to beprolonged--to give his thought to. He smoked slowly and carefully andkeenly. With his head against the back of his chair, he watched thewhite cloudlets curl upward after he had inhaled their fragrance. Thiswas no dull habit indulged in automatically. 

In this moment of indulgence his thoughts turned to Miss Winthrop. Itwas nearing twelve, and perhaps this had something to do with it. Hewas going to miss that luncheon hour. He had come to look forward toit as quite the most interesting event of the day. From hiscomfortable position before the fire, he wondered why. 

It was impossible to say she had any definite physical attractions, although her eyes were not bad. They piqued a man's curiosity, thoseeyes. One remembered them. That was true also of her mouth. Don had novery definite notion of its exact shape, but he remembered how itsurprised one by changing from the tenderness of a young girl's mouthto the firmness of a man's a dozen times in the course of a fewminutes' conversation. 

It was quarter-past twelve. If he had known her telephone number hewould have called her up now, just to say "Hello. " He would be takinga chance, however; for, as likely as not, she would inquire what hewas doing, and would, he felt sure, scold him for having so late abreakfast. 

Odd, that a woman should be so energetic! He had always thought ofthem as quite the opposite. Leisureliness was a prerogative of thesex. He had always understood that it was a woman's right to pamperherself. 

Undoubtedly she would object to his sitting on here before the openfire. Farnsworth would not waste a morning like this--he seemed tohear her telling him so. If he wanted that ten thousand a year, heought to be working on those circulars. A man was not paid for what hedidn't know. Here, with nothing else to do, was a good time to getafter them. Well, he had gone so far as to bring them home with him. 

He rose reluctantly, went upstairs to his room, and brought them down. He began on the electric company which was offering gold bonds at aprice to net four and a half per cent. Then Nora came in to call himto the telephone. 

"Who is it, Nora?"

"Miss Stuyvesant, sir. "

"Oh, yes. "

He hurried to the telephone. 

"Good-morning, Frances. "

"Dad and Mother have gone to church and it's very stupid here, " shecomplained. "Can't you come over?"

He hesitated the fraction of a second. 

"Oh, of course, --if you don't want to, --" she began quickly. 

"It isn't that, Frances. Of course I want to come; only, there weresome papers I brought home from the office--"

"Well?"

"I can go over them some other time. I'll be right up. "

 * * * * *

A discovery that encouraged Don the following week was that by someunconscious power of absorption he grew sufficiently familiar with thefinancial jargon of the office to feel that it really was within thepossibilities that some day he might understand it fully. He foundseveral opportunities to talk with Powers, and the latter, afterrecovering from his surprise at the primitive nature of some of Don'squestions about notes and bonds, went to some trouble to answer them. Not only that, but he mentioned certain books that might supply fullerand more fundamental information. 

"I know these sound like fool questions, " Don apologized, "but I'venever been down in this end of the town much. "

"That's all right, " replied Powers. "Come to me any time you'restuck. "

After Powers went out, Don sat down and tried to recall some of thethings he had been told. He remembered some of them and some of themhe didn't. But that day at lunch Miss Winthrop handed him astenographic report of the entire conversation. Don looked over it inamazement. It was in the form of question and answer. 

_Mr. Pendleton:_ Say, old man, what is a gold bond, anyway?

_Mr. Powers:_ I beg your pardon?

And so on down to Don's final apology. 

_Mr. Pendleton:_ I know these sound like fool questions--

_Mr. Powers:_ That's all right--

"Read it over in your spare time, " advised Miss Winthrop; "then youwon't ask him the same questions twice. "

"But how in thunder did you get this?" he inquired. 

"I wasn't busy just then, and took it down. I knew you'd forget halfhe told you. "

"It was mighty good of you, " he answered. "But I wish you had left outmy talk. Now that I see it in type, it sounds even more foolish than Ithought it was. "

"I've seen a lot of things that didn't turn out well in type, " shenodded. "But you needn't read that part of it. What Powers said wasworth while. He knows what he's talking about, and that's why he's thebest bond salesman in the house. "

"What sort of a salary does _he_ draw?"

"I don't know, " she answered. "And if I were you I'd forget the salaryend of my job for a while. "

"It's a mighty important end, " he declared. 

"I don't see it, " she returned frankly. "I suppose you're starting ontwenty-five?"

"That's all, " he admitted. 

"It's all you're worth. Any one to support besides yourself?"

"No. "

"Then what you worrying about?"

"But, good Heavens, a man can't live on that--any length of time. "

"Can't? I know men who support a wife and children on less. "

"Eh?"

"And do it decently, " she nodded. "I live on half of that myself. "

"You?"

"Of course. Did you think I drew a salary like Farnsworth?"

She laughed at his open astonishment. It appeared genuine. 

"You live on half of twenty-five dollars a week?" he repeated. 

She did not care to pursue the subject. It was a bit too personal. 

"So do hundreds of thousands of others, " she informed him. "On thatand less than that. Now, you put that paper away in your pocket, anddon't ask Powers another question until you know it by heart. Then getafter him again. When you run across something you don't know, whydon't you write it down?"

He took out his engagement-book on the spot and made an entry. 

"I've written down that you say it's possible to live on twenty-fivedollars a week, " he informed her, as he replaced the book in hispocket. 

"Don't be silly, " she warned. "You'd better write down something aboutnot worrying about your salary at all. "

"I'll do that, " he returned. 

He took out his engagement-book again and scribbled a line. 

"Miss Winthrop says not to worry about my salary. "

[Illustration: "CAN'T? I KNOW MEN WHO SUPPORT A WIFE AND CHILDREN ONLESS"]

"I didn't say it, " she protested. 

"Them's your very words. "

"I mean--" she grew really confused. "I mean--you needn't put it downthat I said it. You ought to say it to yourself. "

He shook his head. "That's too deep for me. "

"Then let's drop the subject, " she answered curtly. "Only don't getthe idea that it's I who am worrying about your salary, one way or theother. "

"No need of getting peeved about it, " he suggested. 

"Not in the slightest, " she agreed. 

But she did not wait for her éclair, and went back to the office inanything but a good humor. 

On the whole, Miss Winthrop was rather disappointed in him as a resultof this last interview--the more so because he had begun the day sowell. Her hopes had risen high at the way he approached Powers, and atthe seriousness with which he had listened to what Powers had to say. He had acted like a man eager to learn. Then he had spoiled it all byplacing undue emphasis on the salary end. 

This new development in Pendleton came as a surprise. It did not seemconsistent with his nature as she read it in his eyes. It was not incharacter. It left her doubting her judgment about him along otherlines. She did not object to his ambition. That was essential. Heought to work for Farnsworth's position--but for the position, not thesalary. The position stood for power based upon ability. That was thesort of success she would be keen about if she were a man. 

Curious, too, that Mr. Pendleton should be so keen about money in thisone direction. She had thought his tendency all the other way, and hadmade a mental note that sometime she must drive home to him a fewfacts about having a decent respect for money. A man who would returnthe loan of a two-dollar bill in five dollars' worth of roses was notthe sort of man one expected to have a vaulting ambition for thousandsfor their own sake. One thing was sure--he was not the type of man whoought to occupy so much of her attention on a busy afternoon. 

At a few minutes before five, just as Miss Winthrop was jabbing thelast pin into her hat, a messenger boy hurried into the office with aparcel bearing a noticeable resemblance to a one-pound candy box. Heinquired of Eddie for Miss Winthrop, and Eddie, with considerableceremony, escorted the boy to the desk of that astonished youngwoman. 

"Sign here, " the boy ordered. 

Miss Winthrop gave a swift glance around the office. Mr. Pendleton wasat work at Powers's desk and didn't even look up. It was a remarkableexhibition of concentration on his part. Blake, however, swung aroundin his chair and raised his brows. 

Miss Winthrop seized the pencil and wrote her name, dotting the "i"and crossing the "t" with vicious jabs. Then she picked up the box andhurried toward the door. 

"From a devoted admirer?" inquired Blake, as she passed him. 

Don saw the color spring to Miss Winthrop's cheeks, but she hurried onwithout a word in reply. He understood now what it was she did notlike about Blake. Don was not at all of an aggressive nature, but atthat moment he could have struck the man with the greatestsatisfaction. It seemed the only adequate way of expressing himself. Blake was still smiling. 

"Sort of caught her with the goods that time, eh?" observed Blake. 

"I don't get you, " answered Don. 

"Candy by messenger? Well, I've been looking for it. And when thosehaughty ones do fall, believe me, they fall hard. "

"Maybe, " answered Don. "But I'll bet you five dollars to a quarteryou're wrong about her. "

Blake's eyes narrowed a trifle. 

"I'll take you, " he answered. "What's your proof?"

"I sent her that stuff myself. "

"You? Holy smoke, that's going some!"

"I sent her that to pay for some typewriting she did for me andbecause I knew she wouldn't take any money. "

"I lose. Come out and have a drink?"

"Thanks, " answered Don. "I'm on my way uptown. Give that quarter toEddie. "

CHAPTER IX

IT WILL NEVER DO

If Miss Winthrop ever had more than a nodding acquaintance with Mr. Pendleton, she gave no indication of that fact when she came in thenext morning. With a face as blank as a house closed for the season, she clicked away at her typewriter until noon, and then hurried out tolunch as if that were a purely business transaction also. Don followeda little sooner than usual. The little restaurant was not at allcrowded to-day, but she was not there. He waited ten minutes, and ashe waited the conviction grew that she did not intend to come. 

Don went out and began an investigation. He visited five similarplaces in the course of the next fifteen minutes, and in the last onehe found her. She was seated in a far corner, and she was huddled upas if trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. As hestrode to her side with uplifted hat, she shrank away like a huntedthing finding itself trapped. 

"What did you run away for?" he demanded. 

"What did you hunt me up for?" she replied. 

"Because I wanted to see you. "

"And I came here because I did _not_ want to see you. "

"Now, look here--" he began. 

"So I should think you'd go along and leave me alone, " she interrupted. 

"If I did that, then I'd never know what the trouble is all about, " heexplained. 

"Well, what of it?"

"May I sit down?"

There was an empty chair next to her. 

"I can't prevent you, but I've told you I want to be alone. "

"When you look that way, you're just as much alone as if I weren'there, " he returned, as he took the chair. "And every one knows it. "

She gave a swift glance about the room, as if expecting to find halfthe crowd looking at her. 

"Maybe they are too polite to let on, " he continued; "but I know justwhat they are saying to themselves. They are saying, 'She certainlyhasn't much use for him. You'd think he'd take the tip and get out. '"

"You don't seem to care much, then, about what they say. "

"I don't care a hang, " he admitted. 

She pushed her plate away as if ready to go. 

"Wait a minute, " he pleaded. "It doesn't seem like you to go off andleave a man in the dark. How in thunder am I going to know any betternext time if you don't tell me where I made the break?"

"I don't believe you'd know if I did tell you, " she answered moregently. 

"The least you can do is to try. "

She did not want to tell him. If he was sincere--and the longer shetalked with him, the more convinced she was that this was thecase--then she did not wish to disillusionize him. 

"The least you can do is to give me a chance, " he persisted. 

"The mistake came in the beginning, Mr. Pendleton, " she said, with aneffort. "And it was all my fault. You--you seemed so different from alot of men who come into the office that I--well, I wanted to see youget started straight. In the three years I've been there I've pickedup a lot of facts that aren't much use to me because--because I'm justMiss Winthrop. So I thought I could pass them on. "

"That was mighty white of you, " he nodded. 

The color flashed into her cheeks. 

"I thought I could do that much without interfering in any other waywith either of our lives. "

"Well?"

"There were two or three things I didn't reckon with, " she answered. 

"What were they?" he demanded. 

"Blake is one of them. "

"Blake?" His face brightened with sudden understanding. "Then thetrouble is all about that box of candy?"

"You shouldn't have sent it. You should have known better than to sendit. You--had no right. "

"But that was nothing. You were so darned good to me about thetypewriting and it was all I could think of. "

"So, you see, " she concluded, "it won't do. It won't do at all. "

"I don't see, " he returned. 

"Then it's because you didn't see the way Blake looked at me, " shesaid. 

"Yes, I saw, " he answered. "I could have hit him for it. But I fixedthat. "

"You--fixed that?" she gasped. 

"I certainly did. I told him I sent the box, and told him why. "

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Then they'll all know, and--what am I going todo? Oh, what am I going to do?"

It was a pitiful cry. He did not understand why it was so intense, because he did not see what she saw--the gossip increasing inmaliciousness; the constant watching and nods and winks, until in theend it became intolerable either to her or to Farnsworth. Nor was thatthe possible end. To leave an office under these conditions was aserious matter--a matter so serious as to affect her whole future. 

"Now, see here, " he pleaded. "Don't take it so hard. You're making toomuch of it. Blake isn't going to talk any more. If he does--"

She raised her head. 

"If he does, there isn't anything you can do about it. "

"I'll bet there is. "

"No--no--_no_. There isn't. I know! But you mustn't come here anymore. And you mustn't talk to me any more. Then perhaps they'llforget. "

He grew serious. 

"It seems too bad if it's got to be that way, " he answered. 

"I ought to have known, " she said. 

"And I ought to have known, too. I was a fool to send that box intothe office, but I wanted you to get it before you went home. "

She raised her eyes to his a moment. Then a queer, tender expressionsoftened her mouth. 

"This is the end of it, " she answered. "And now I'm glad you did notknow any better. "

She rose to go, and then she noticed that he had not lunched. 

"I'll wait here until you come back with your sandwich, " she said. 

"I don't want a sandwich, " he protested. 

"Please hurry. "

So she waited there until he came back with his lunch, and then sheheld out her hand to him. 

"To-morrow you go to the old place, " she said, "and I'll come here. "

CHAPTER X

DICTATION

As far as Don was concerned, Miss Winthrop, instead of merely changingher lunch-place, might just as well have taken a steamer and sailedfor Europe. He saw her at her desk every morning when he came in, andshe always looked up and nodded--as she did, for that matter, to everyone, including Blake. Then she turned to her work, and that was theend of her until the next morning. As far as he was able to judge, Miss Winthrop had completely and utterly forgotten the preceding weeksand even the incident that led to this disastrous climax. 

But the situation that left her so unaffected got on Don's nerves. Hewas by nature too much of a social being to endure being left tohimself very long. This lunching alone day after day was a drearyaffair. The egg sandwiches began to pall upon his taste, and he feltthat he could not have eaten an éclair had he been starving. 

Sometimes he had only a cup of coffee, and then hurried out andwandered about the streets for the remainder of his hour. It was along hour--a tedious hour. Most of the time he spent in the hope that, by some lucky chance, he might meet her. He did not hunt for her. Heavoided her usual course. If he met her, it must be honestly bychance. But he never met her. He passed thousands of other youngwomen, but he never met her. He used to return to the office sometimesdoubting that she existed. But at one o'clock she was always thereback of her machine. 

He spent a good deal of time that week with Powers; and seemed to makesome progress. He had now a definite knowledge of bonds and notes, andhad even mastered, in a general way, the important details of some ofthe issues the house was handling. Twice he had taken home his papersand actually spent several hours upon them. Some of them he knewalmost by heart. It was encouraging, but it would have been much moreencouraging if he had been able to tell Miss Winthrop about it. 

Somehow, he did not feel that he really knew those things until hehad told her he knew them. This was a curious frame of mind to be in, but it was a fact. 

As far as he was concerned, he would have broken through this embargolong ago. But she had made him see, and see clearly, that he was _not_alone concerned. That was the whole trouble. If Blake talked onlyabout him, and let it go at that, no harm would be done. 

One Friday morning, toward eleven o'clock, Blake was out of theoffice, and Don had just finished a long talk with Powers, when henoticed that Miss Winthrop was not for the moment busy. 

Don had an inspiration. He caught Powers just as he was about toleave. 

"Look here, old man, " he said in an undertone. "Is there any objectionto my dictating a letter to Miss Winthrop?"

"Why, no, " answered Powers. "She's there for the use of the staff. "

"Thought I'd like to have her take down some of the things we've beentalking about, " he explained. 

"Good idea, " nodded Powers. 

A minute later Miss Winthrop caught her breath as Don calmly walked toher desk, seated himself in a chair near her, and, producing acircular from his pocket, followed Blake's formula in asking:--

"Can you take a letter for me, Miss Winthrop?"

Almost as automatically as she answered Blake, she replied:--

"Certainly. "

She reached for her notebook and pencil. 

"_My dear Madame_, " he began. 

"Any address, Mr. Pendleton?"

"I don't know the exact address, " he answered. "Just address it to thelittle restaurant in the alley. "

She looked up. 

"Mr. Pendleton!"

"To the little restaurant in the alley, " he continued calmly. "Do youuse Madame or Mademoiselle to an unmarried lady?" he inquired. 

"I suppose this is a strictly business letter, or you would not bedictating it in office hours, " she returned. 

"I'll make it partly business, " he nodded. "Ready?"

"Yes, Mr. Pendleton; but I don't think--"

"Who is introducing the personal element now?" he demanded. 

"Ready, Mr. Pendleton. "

 _My dear Madame_:--

 In reply to your advice that I acquire certain information relative to the securities which our firm is offering for sale, I beg to report that, after several talks with our Mr. Powers, I am prepared to give you any information you may desire. 

"Try me on one of them?" he suggested, interrupting himself. 

She raised her eyes and glanced anxiously around the office. Then shereplied, as if reading from her notebook:--

"You forget, Mr. Pendleton, that I am taking a letter from you. "

"Try me on one of the bonds, " he insisted. 

"You mustn't act like this. Really, you mustn't. "

"Then I'll dictate some more. Ready?"

"Yes, Mr. Pendleton. "

Our Miss Winthrop has just informed me that you have lost yourinterest in the whole matter. 

"I didn't say that, Mr. Pendleton, " she interrupted. 

"What did you say, then?"

"I said that here in the office--"

"Oh, I see. Then scratch that sentence out. "

She scratched it out. 

"Have it read this way":--

Our Miss Winthrop informs me--

"Why need you bring me in at all?" she asked. 

"Please don't interrupt. "

--informs me that, owing to the lack of privacy in the office, youcannot discuss these matters here with me. Therefore I suggest that, as long as the luncheon hour is no longer convenient (for the samereasons), an arrangement be made whereby I may have the pleasure ofdining with you some evening. 

Miss Winthrop's brows came together. 

"That is absolutely impossible!" she exclaimed. 

If the idea does not appeal to you as a pleasure, --

he went on in the most impersonal of tones, --

perhaps you would be willing to consider it as a favor. Our MissWinthrop informs me that the suggestion is impossible, but personallyI don't see how anything could be more easily arranged. I wouldprefer Saturday evening, as on that date I am quite sure of beingsufficiently well provided with ducats--

"You'd better save them, " she interrupted. 

--to insure a proper settlement with the waiter, --

he concluded his sentence. 

Please let me know, then, where I may meet you on Saturday eveningnext. 

"I told you that was quite impossible, Mr. Pendleton, " she remindedhim. 

"You haven't told me why. "

"There are a hundred reasons, and they can't be discussed here. "

"That's it, " he exclaimed triumphantly. "That's the whole trouble! Wecan't discuss things here; so let's have our little dinner, and thenthere'll be all the chance in the world for you to tell me why youshouldn't come. "

"You're absurd, " she declared, with an involuntary smile. 

Hoping for the favor of an early reply, --

he concluded, --

I beg to remain, Madame, most sincerely yours. 

"Is that all?"

"You might add this postscript":--

I shall be at the Harvard Club at seven to-night, and a 'phone messagethere might be the most convenient way of replying. 

"You don't really wish this typed, Mr. Pendleton?"

"I think it best, " he replied as he rose, "unless you're too tired?"

"I'm never tired in business hours. "

He returned to his desk; in a few seconds he heard the click of hermachine. 

Miss Winthrop did not stop at the delicatessen store that night, butwent direct to her room. She removed her hat and coat, and then satdown, chin in hands, to think this problem out. 

She had missed Pendleton at the luncheon hour to a distinctlydiscomfiting degree. Naturally enough, she held him wholly responsiblefor that state of mind. Her life had been going along smoothly untilhe took it upon himself to come into the office. There had been nocomplications--no worries. She was earning enough to provide her witha safe retreat at night, and to clothe and feed her body; and thisleft her free, within certain accepted limits, to do as she pleased. This was her enviable condition when Mr. Pendleton came along--camefrom Heaven knew where, and took up his position near her desk. Thenhe had happened upon her at the little restaurant. And he was hungryand had only thirteen cents. 

Perhaps right there was where she had made her mistake. It appearedthat a woman could not be impersonally decent to a man without beingheld personally responsible. If she did not telephone him to-night, Pendleton would be disappointed, and, being disappointed, Heaven onlyknew what he would do. 

Under the circumstances, perhaps the wisest thing she could do was tomeet him this once and make him clearly understand that she was neverto meet him again. Pendleton was young, and he had not been longenough in the office to learn the downtown conventions. It was herfault that she had interested herself in him in the first place. Itwas her fault that she had allowed him to lunch with her. It was herfault that she had not been strictly businesslike with him in theoffice. So she would have dinner with him, and that would end it. 

She had some tea and crackers, and at half-past six put on her thingsand took a short walk. At seven she went into a public pay station, rang up the Harvard Club, and called for Mr. Pendleton. When she heardhis voice her cheeks turned scarlet. 

"If you insist I'll come to-morrow night, " she informed him. "But--"

"Say, that's fine!" he interrupted. 

"But I want you to understand that I don't approve of it. "

"Oh, that's all right, " he assured her. "Where may I call for you?"

"I--I don't know. "

"Where do you live?"

She gave her address. 

"Then I'll call there. "

"Very well, " she answered. 

"Now, I call that mighty good of you, " he ran on. "And--"

"Good-night, " she concluded sharply. 

She hung up the receiver and went back to her room in anything but acomfortable frame of mind. 

CHAPTER XI

STEAK, WITH MUSHROOMS AND ADVICE

All of Miss Winthrop that occupied a desk in the office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves on the next day was that for which Farnsworth waspaying a weekly wage of twelve dollars. From the moment she enteredthat morning until she left that afternoon she made this perfectlyclear to every one, including Don. But he also was busy. He haddetermined to make himself letter perfect on several bond issues. Tothis end he worked as hard as ever he had the day before a finalexamination. Besides this, Farnsworth found three or four errands forhim to do, which he accomplished with dispatch. All that weekFarnsworth had used him more and more--a distinctly encouraging sign. Don knew offhand now the location of some ten or fifteen offices, andwas received in them as the recognized representative of Carter, Rand& Seagraves. In some places he was even known by name and addressedas Mr. Pendleton--which filled him with considerable pride. 

Don went direct to his house from the office, dressed, and went to theclub. 

"If any one rings me up, get the name, " he ordered the doorman. 

He avoided the crowd before the bar, and went upstairs to the library. He had brought his circulars with him, and now went over them onceagain in order to refresh his memory on some of the details. He was asanxious about getting this right as if Miss Winthrop were aprospective customer. Perhaps she might be. Women invested money, andif he was persuasive enough he might sell her a thousand-dollar bond. If he did not sell one to her, he might sell a few to Barton. Bartonwas always investing money--investing the Pendleton money, in fact. Hemight suggest Barton to Farnsworth, and drop around and see himto-morrow. Then Barton might suggest some one else. Before night hemight in this way sell a couple of dozen of these bonds. He grewexcited at the idea. He felt a new instinct stirring within him. 

Don had never sold anything in his life except a few old clothes tosecond-hand clothes men in Cambridge. Strictly speaking, that was morein the nature of a gift than a sale: for a hundred dollars' worth ofclothes, he received perhaps ten dollars, which he felt obliged tospend on his friends at the first opportunity. 

Don had always been a buyer--a talent that required neitherpreparation nor development. Money had always passed from him to someone else. This was pleasant enough, but undramatic. There was noclash; it called for no effort on his part. To reverse all this andwatch the money pass in the other direction--from some one else tohim--impressed him as a pleasant variation. 

At seven o'clock Don replaced his circulars in his pocket and wentdownstairs. Wadsworth passed him, and for a moment Don was tempted tostop him and try out his knowledge of bonds on him. The club, however, was hardly the place for that. But if ever he met Wadsworth on thestreet he would see what he could do. Wadsworth had never been morethan an acquaintance of his, but now he saw in him a prospectivecustomer. 

Don stepped into a taxi at the door and gave the driver the addresssupplied by Miss Winthrop. The cab after a little came to a stopbefore one of several entrances in a long brick block. Before Don hadtime to reach the door Miss Winthrop stepped out. He had rather hopedfor an opportunity to meet some of her family. 

"Am I late?" he inquired anxiously. 

He could not account in any other way for the fact that she hadhurried out before he had a chance to send in his card. 

"No, " she answered. "Did you come in that?"

She was looking at the taxi. 

He nodded, and stood at the door, ready to assist her in. 

"Well, you may send it away now, " she informed him. 

"But--"

"I won't go in it, " she insisted firmly. 

"Afraid it will break down?"

"Are you going to send it away?"

Without further argument he paid the driver and sent him off. 

"It isn't right to waste money like that, " she told him. 

"Oh, that was the trouble? But it wouldn't have cost more than acouple of dollars to have gone back with him. "

"Two dollars! That's carfare for three weeks. "

"Of course, if you look at it that way. But here we are away uptown, and--hanged if I know how to get out. "

He looked around, as bewildered as a lost child. She could not helplaughing. 

"If you're as helpless as that I don't see how you ever get home atnight, " she said. 

He looked in every direction, but he did not see a car line. He turnedto her. 

"I won't help you, " she said, shaking her head. 

"Then we'll have to walk until we come to the Elevated, " hedetermined. 

"All right, " she nodded. "Only, if you don't go in the right directionyou will walk all night before you come to the Elevated. "

"I can ask some one, can't I?"

"I certainly would before I walked very far. "

"Then I'm going to ask you. "

He raised his hat. 

"I beg pardon, madame, but would you be so good--"

"Oh, turn to the right, " she laughed. "And do put on your hat. "

It was a quiet little French restaurant of the better kind to which hetook her--a place he had stumbled on one evening, and to which heoccasionally went when the club menu did not appeal to him. Jacqueshad reserved a table in a corner, and had arranged there the violetsthat Monsieur Pendleton had sent for this purpose. On the whole, itwas just as well Miss Winthrop did not know this, or of the tip thatwas to lead to a certain kind of salad and to an extravagant dish withmushrooms to come later. It is certain that Monsieur Pendleton knewhow to arrange a dinner from every other but the economical end. 

Don was very much himself to-night, and in an exceedingly good humor. In no time he made her also feel very much herself and put her intoan equally good humor. Her cares, her responsibilities, her fears, vanished as quickly as if the last three or four years had taught hernothing. She had started with set lips, and here she was with smilingones. In the half-hour that she waited in her room for him, she hadrehearsed a half-dozen set speeches; now she did not recall one ofthem. 

Don suggested wine, but she shook her head. She had no need of wine. It was wine enough just to be out of her room at night; wine enoughjust to get away from the routine of her own meals; wine enough justnot to be alone; wine enough just to get away from her own sex for alittle. 

Don chatted on aimlessly through the anchovies, the soup, and fish, and she enjoyed listening to him. He was the embodiment of youth, andhe made even her feel like a care-free girl of sixteen again. Thisshowed in her face, in the relaxed muscles about her mouth, and in herbrightened eyes. 

Then, during the long wait for the steak and mushrooms, his facebecame serious, and he leaned across the table. 

"By the way, " he began, "the house has received a new allotment ofbonds; I want to tell you about them. "

He had his facts well in hand, and he spoke with conviction and anunconventionality of expression that made her listen. She knew agood salesman when she heard one, whether she was familiar with theparticular subject-matter or not. The quality of salesmanshipreally had nothing to do with the subject-matter. A good salesmancan sell anything. It has rather to do with that unknown gift whichdistinguishes an actor able to pack a house from an actor with everyother quality able only to half fill a house. It has nothing to dowith general intelligence; it has nothing to do with conscientiouspreparation; it has nothing to do with anything but itself. Itcorresponds to what in a woman is called charm, and which may gowith a pug nose or freckles or a large mouth. But it cannot becultivated. It either is or is not. 

It was the mushrooms and steak that interrupted him. Jacques wastrying to draw his attention to the sizzling hot platter which he washolding for his inspection--a work of art in brown and green. Ordinarily Monsieur Pendleton took some time to appreciate hisefforts. Now he merely nodded:--

"Good. "

Jacques was somewhat disappointed. 

"Madame sees it?" he ventured. 

Madame, who was sitting with her chin in her hands, staring across thetable at Monsieur, started. 

"Yes, " she smiled. "It is beautiful. "

But, when Jacques turned away to carve, she continued to stare againat Mr. Pendleton. 

"It's in you, " she exclaimed. "Oh, what a chance you have!"

"You think I'll do?"

"I think that in two years you'll be outselling any one in theoffice, " she answered. 

His face flushed at the praise. 

"That's straight?"

"That's straight, " she nodded. "And within another year Farnsworthwill pay you anything you demand. "

"Ten thousand?"

"A gift like yours is worth that to the house--if you don't spoilit. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, I mean you must keep it fresh and clean and free, and not mix itup with money, " she ran on eagerly. "You must keep right on sellingfor the fun of the game and not for the gain. The gain will come fastenough. Don't worry about that. But if you make it the end, it maymake an end of your gift. And you mustn't get foolish with success. And you mustn't--oh, there are a hundred ways of spoiling it all. "

It was her apparent sure knowledge of these things that constantlysurprised him. 

"How do you know?" he demanded. 

"Because I've seen and heard. All I can do is to stop, look, andlisten, isn't it?"

"And warn the speeders?" he laughed. 

"If I could do that much it would be something, " she answeredwistfully. 

"Will you warn me?"

"I'm warning you now. "

She met his eyes with a puzzled frown. 

"I've seen a lot of men start right, but they don't stay right. Whydon't they?"

"But a lot of them do, " he answered. 

"And they are the kind that just stay. I hate that kind. I hate peoplewho just stay. That's why I hate myself sometimes. "

He looked up at her quickly. It was the first indication he had thatshe was not continually in an unbroken state of calm content. Hecaught her brown eyes grown suddenly full, as if they themselves hadbeen startled by the unexpected exclamation. 

"What's that you said?" he demanded. 

She tried to laugh, but she was still too disconcerted to make it asuccessful effort. She was not often goaded into as intimate aconfession as this. 

"It isn't worth repeating, " she answered uneasily. 

"You said you hated yourself sometimes. "

"The steak is very, very good, " she answered, smiling. 

"Then you aren't hating yourself now?"

"No, no, " she replied quickly. "It's only when I get seriousand--please don't let's be serious. "

The rest of the dinner was very satisfactory, for he left her nothingto do but sit back and enjoy herself. And he made her laugh, sharingwith him his laughter. It was half-past ten when they arose and wentout upon the street. There she kept right on forgetting. It was notuntil she stood in her room, half-undressed, that she remembered shehad not told Pendleton that to-night was positively to bring to an endthis impossible friendship. 

CHAPTER XII

A SOCIAL WIDOW

With the approach of the holiday season, when pretty nearly every onecomes back to town, Frances found her engagements multiplying sorapidly that it required a good deal of tact and not a littlearithmetic to keep them from conflicting. In this emergency, when shereally needed Don, not only was he of no practical help, but hefurther embarrassed her by announcing a blanket refusal of allafternoon engagements. This placed her in the embarrassing position ofbeing obliged to go alone and then apologize for him. 

"Poor Don is in business now, " was her stock explanation. 

She was irritated with Don for having placed her in this position. Inreturn for having surrendered to him certain privileges, she hadexpected him to fulfill certain obligations. If she had promised toallow him to serve exclusively as her social partner, then he shouldhave been at all times available. He had no right to leave her asocial widow--even when he could not help it. As far as the afternoonswere concerned, the poor boy could not help it--she knew that; but, even so, why should her winter be broken up by what some one elsecould not help?

She had given her consent to Don, not to a business man. As Don he hadbeen delightful. No girl could ask to have a more attentive andthoughtful fiancé than he had been. He allowed her to make all hisengagements for him, and he never failed her. He was the only man sheknew who could sit through a tea without appearing either silly orbored. And he was nice--but not too nice--to all her girl friends, sothat most of them were jealous of her. Decidedly, she had had nothingto complain of. 

And she had not complained, even when he announced that he waspenniless. This did not affect her feeling toward Don himself. It wassomething of a nuisance, but, after all, a matter of no greatconsequence. She had no doubt he could make all the money he wanted, just as her father had done. 

But of late it had been increasingly difficult to persuade him, onaccount of business, to fulfill even his evening engagements. He wasconstantly reminding her of bonds and things that he must study. Well, if it was necessary for him to study bonds and things, he should findsome way of doing it that would not interfere with her plans. 

The climax came when he asked to be excused from the Moore cotillionbecause he had three other dances for that week. 

"You see, " he explained, "Farnsworth is going to let me go out andsell as soon as I'm fit, and so I'm putting in a lot of extra time. "

"Who is Farnsworth?" she inquired. 

"Why, he's the general manager. I've told you about him. "

"I remember now. But, Don dear, you aren't going to _sell_ things?"

"You bet I am, " he answered enthusiastically. "All I'm waiting for isa chance. "

"But what do you sell?" she inquired. 

"Investment securities. "

He seemed rather pleased that she was showing so much interest. 

"You see, the house buys a batch of securities wholesale and thensells them at retail--just as a grocer does. "

"Don!"

"It's the same thing, " he nodded. 

"Then I should call it anything but an attractive occupation. "

"That's because you don't understand. You see, here's a man with someextra money to invest. Now, when you go to him, maybe he has somethingelse in mind to do with that money. What you have to do--"

"Please don't go into details, Don, " she interrupted. "You know Iwouldn't understand. "

"If you'd just let me explain once, " he urged. 

"It would only irritate me, " she warned. "I'm sure it would onlyfurnish you with another reason why you shouldn't go about as much asyou do. "

"It would, " he agreed. "That's why I want to make it clear. Don't yousee that if I keep at this for a few years--"

"Years?" she gasped. 

"Well, until I get my ten thousand. "

"But I thought you were planning to have that by next fall at thelatest. "

"I'm going to try, " he answered. "I'm going to try hard. But, somehow, it doesn't look as easy as it did before I started. I didn'tunderstand what a man has to know before he's worth all that money. "

"I'm sure I don't find ten thousand to be very much, " she observed. 

"Perhaps it isn't much to spend, " he admitted, "but it's a whole lotto earn. I know a bunch of men who don't earn it. "

"Then they must be very stupid. "

"No; but somehow dollars look bigger downtown than they do uptown. Why, I know a little restaurant down there where a dollar looks as bigas ten. "

"Don, dear, you're living too much downtown, " she exclaimed somewhatpetulantly. "You don't realize it, but you are. It's making youdifferent--and I don't want you different. I want you just as you usedto be. "

She fell back upon a straight appeal--an appeal of eyes and arms andlips. 

"I miss you awfully in the afternoons, " she went on, "but I'll admitthat can't be helped. I'll give up that much of you. But after dinnerI claim you. You're mine after dinner, Don. "

She was very tender and beautiful in this mood. When he saw her likethis, nothing else seemed to matter. There was no downtown or uptown;there was only she. There was nothing to do but stoop and kiss hereager lips. Which is exactly what he did. 

For a moment she allowed it, and then with an excited laugh freedherself. 

"Please to give me one of your cards, Don, " she said. 

He handed her a card, and she wrote upon it this:--

"_December sixteenth, Moore cotillion_. "

CHAPTER XIII

DEAR SIR--

Don never had an opportunity to test his knowledge of the bondsabout which he had laboriously acquired so much information, because within the next week all these offerings had been sold andtheir places taken by new securities. These contained an entirelydifferent set of figures. It seemed to him that all his previouswork was wasted. He must begin over again; and, as far as he couldsee, he must keep on beginning over again indefinitely. He feltthat Farnsworth had deprived him of an opportunity, and this had theeffect of considerably dampening his enthusiasm. 

Then, too, during December and most of January Frances kept him verybusy. He had never seen her so gay or so beautiful. She was like afairy sprite ever dancing to dizzy music. He followed her in a sort ofdaze from dinner to dance, until the strains of music whirled throughhis head all day long. 

The more he saw of her, the more he desired of her. In Christmas week, when every evening was filled and he was with her from eight in theevening until two and three and four the next morning, he would glanceat his watch every ten minutes during the following day. The hoursfrom nine to five were interminable. He wandered restlessly about theoffice, picking up paper and circular, only to drop them after anuneasy minute or two. The entire office staff faded into thebackground. Even Miss Winthrop receded until she became scarcely morethan a figure behind a typewriter. When he was sent out by Farnsworth, he made as long an errand of it as he could. He was gone an hour, oran hour and a half, on commissions that should not have taken half thetime. 

It was the week of the Moore cotillion that Miss Winthrop observed thechange in him. She took it to be a natural enough reaction and hadhalf-expected it. There were very few men, her observation had toldher, who could sustain themselves at their best for any length oftime. This was an irritating fact, but being a fact had to beaccepted. As a man he was entitled to an off day or two--possibly toan off week. 

But when the second and third and fourth week passed without anynotable improvement in him, Miss Winthrop became worried. 

"You ought to put him wise, " she ventured to suggest to Powers. 

"I?" Powers had inquired. 

"Well, he seems like a pretty decent sort, " she answered indifferently. 

"So he is, " admitted Powers, with an indifference that was decidedlymore genuine than her own. It was quite clear that Powers's interestwent no further. He had a wife and two children and his ownambitions. 

For a long time she saw no more of him than she saw of Blake. Henodded a good-morning when he came in, and then seemed to lose himselfuntil noon. Where he lunched she did not know. For a while she hadrather looked for him, and then, to cure herself of that, had changedher own luncheon place. At night he generally hurried out early--a badpractice in itself: at least once, Farnsworth had wanted him forsomething after he was gone; he had made no comment, but it was thesort of thing Farnsworth remembered. When, on the very next day, Mr. Pendleton started home still earlier, it had required a good deal ofself-control on her part not to stop him. But she did not stop him. For one thing, Blake was at his desk at the time. 

It was a week later that Miss Winthrop was called into the privateoffice of Mr. Seagraves one afternoon. His own stenographer had beentaken ill, and he wished her to finish the day. She took half a dozenletters, and then waited while Farnsworth came in for a confidentialconsultation upon some business matters. It was as the latter wasleaving that Mr. Seagraves called him back. 

"How is Pendleton getting along?" he inquired. 

Miss Winthrop felt her heart stop for a beat or two. She bent over hernotebook to conceal the color that was burning her cheeks. For animpersonal observer she realized they showed too much. 

"I think he has ability, " Farnsworth answered slowly. "He began well, but he has let down a little lately. "

"That's too bad, " answered Mr. Seagraves. "I thought he would make agood man for us. "

"I can tell better in another month, " Mr. Farnsworth answered. 

"We need another selling man, " declared Mr. Seagraves. 

"We do, " nodded Farnsworth. "I have my eye on several we can get ifPendleton doesn't develop. "

"That's good. Ready, Miss Winthrop. "

The thing Miss Winthrop had to decide that night was whether sheshould allow Mr. Pendleton to stumble on to his doom or take it uponherself to warn him. She was forced to carry that problem home withher, and eat supper with it, and give up her evening to it. Whenevershe thought of it from that point of view, she grew rebellious andlost her temper. There was not a single sound argument why her timeand her thought should be thus monopolized by Mr. Pendleton. 

She had already done what she could for him, and it had not amountedto a row of pins. She had told him to go to bed at night, so that hecould get up in the morning fresh, and he had not done it. She hadadvised him to hustle whenever he was on an errand for Farnsworth, andof late he had loafed. She had told him to keep up to the minute onthe current investments the house was offering, and to-day he probablycould not have told even the names of half of them. No one could arguethat it was her duty to keep after him every minute--as if he belongedto her. 

And then, in spite of herself, her thoughts went back to the privateoffice of Mr. Seagraves. She recalled the expression on the faces ofthe two men--an expression denoting only the most fleeting interest inthe problem of Mr. Pendleton. If he braced up, well and good; if hedid not, then it was only a question of selecting some one else. Itwas Pendleton's affair, not theirs. 

That was what every one thought except Pendleton himself--who did notthink at all, because he did not know. And if no one told him, then hewould never know. Some day Mr. Farnsworth would call him into theoffice and inform him his services were no longer needed. He wouldnot tell him why, even if Don inquired. So, with everything almostwithin his grasp, Pendleton would go. Of course, he might land anotherplace; but it was no easy thing to find the second opportunity, havingfailed in the first. 

Yet this was all so unnecessary. Mr. Pendleton had in him everythingFarnsworth wanted. If the latter could have heard him talk as she hadheard him talk, he would have known this. Farnsworth ought to send himout of the office--let him get among men where he could talk. And thatwould come only if Mr. Pendleton could hold on here long enough. Thenhe _must_ hold on. He must cut out his late hours and return to hisold schedule. She must get hold of him and tell him. But how?

The solution came the next morning. She decided that if she had anyspare time during the day she would write him what she had to say. When she saw him drift in from lunch at twenty minutes past one, shetook the time without further ado. She snatched a sheet of officepaper, rolled it into the machine, snapped the carriage into position, and began. 

 MR. DONALD PENDLETON, Care Carter, Rand & Seagraves, New York, N. Y. 

 _Dear Sir_:--

 Of course it is none of my business whether you get fired or not; but, even if it isn't, I like to see a man have fair warning. Farnsworth doesn't think that way. He gives a man all the rope he wants and lets him hang himself. That is just what he's doing with you. I had a tip straight from the inside the other day that if you keep on as you have for the last six weeks you will last here just about another month. That isn't a guess, either; it's right from headquarters. 

 For all I know, this is what you want; but if it is, I'd rather resign on my own account than be asked to resign. It looks better, and helps you with the next job. Most men downtown have a prejudice against a man who has been fired. 

 You needn't ask me where I got my information, because I won't tell you. I've no business to tell you this much. What you want to remember is that Farnsworth knows every time you get in from lunch twenty minutes late, as you did to-day; and he knows when you get in late in the morning, as you have eleven times now; and he knows when you take an hour and a half for a half-hour errand, as you have seven times; and he knows when you're in here half-dead, as you've been all the time; and he knows what you don't know about what you ought to know. And no one has to tell him, either. He gets it by instinct. 

 So you needn't say no one warned you, and please don't expect me to tell you anything more, because I don't know anything more. I am, Respectfully yours, SARAH K. WINTHROP. 

She addressed this to the Harvard Club, and posted it that night onher way home. It freed her of a certain responsibility, and so helpedher to enjoy a very good dinner. 

CHAPTER XIV

IN REPLY

Don did not receive Miss Winthrop's letter until the followingevening. He had dropped into the club to join Wadsworth in abracer, --a habit he had drifted into this last month, --and opened theenvelope with indifferent interest, expecting a tailor's announcement. He caught his breath at the first line, and then read the letterthrough some five times. Wadsworth, who was waiting politely, grewimpatient. 

"If you're trying to learn that by heart--" he began. 

Don thrust the letter into his pocket. 

"I beg your pardon, " he apologized. "It--it was rather important. "

They sat down in the lounge. 

"What's yours?" inquired Wadsworth, as in response to a bell a pagecame up. 

"A little French vichy, " answered Don. 

"Oh, have a real drink, " Wadsworth urged. 

"I think I'd better not to-night, " answered Don. 

Wadsworth ordered a cock-tail for himself. 

"How's the market to-day?" he inquired. He always inquired how themarket was of his business friends--as one inquires as to the healthof an elderly person. 

"I don't know, " answered Don. 

"You don't mean to say you've cut out business?" exclaimed Wadsworth. 

"I guess I have, " Don answered vaguely. 

"Think of retiring?"

"To tell the truth, I hadn't thought of it until very lately; butnow--"

Don restrained a desire to read his letter through once more. 

"Take my advice and do it, " nodded Wadsworth. "Nothing in it but abeastly grind. It's pulling on you. "

As a matter of fact, Don had lost some five pounds in the last month, and it showed in his face. But it was not business which had donethat, and he knew it. Also Miss Winthrop knew it. 

It was certainly white of her to take the trouble to write to him likethis. He wondered why she did. She had not been very much in histhoughts of late, and he took it for granted that to the same degreehe had been absent from hers. And here she had been keeping count ofevery time he came in late. Curious that she should have done that!

In the library, he took out the letter and read it through again. Heavens, he could not allow himself to be discharged like anunfaithful office-boy! His father would turn in his grave. It would bealmost as bad as being discharged for dishonesty. 

Don's lips came together in thin lines. This would never do--never inthe world. As Miss Winthrop suggested, he had much better resign. Perhaps he ought to resign, anyway. No matter what he might do in thefuture, he could not redeem the past; and if Farnsworth felt he hadnot been playing the game right, he ought to take the matter in hisown hands and get off the team. But, in a way, that would bequitting--and the Pendletons had never been quitters. It would bequitting, both inside the office and out. He had to have that salaryto live on. Without it, life would become a very serious matter. Themore he thought of this, the more he realized that resigning was outof the question. He really had no alternative but to make good; so he_would_ make good. 

The resolution, in itself, was enough to brace him. The importantthing now was, not to make Carter, Rand & Seagraves understand this, not to make Farnsworth understand this: it was to make Miss Winthropunderstand it. He seized a pen and began to write. 

 MY DEAR SARAH K. WINTHROP [he began]:--

 Farnsworth ought to be sitting at your desk plugging that machine, and you ought to be holding down his chair before the roll-top desk. You'd get more work out of every man in the office in a week than he does in a month. Maybe he knows more about bonds than you do, but he doesn't know as much about men. If he did he'd have waded into me just the way you did. 

 I'm not saying Farnsworth hasn't good cause to fire me. He has, and that's just what you've made clear. But, honest and hope to die, I didn't realize it until I read your letter. I knew I'd been getting in late and all that; but, as long as it didn't seem to make any difference to any one, I couldn't see the harm in it. I'd probably have kept on doing it if you hadn't warned me. And I'd have been fired, and deserved it. 

 If that had happened I think my father would have risen from his grave long enough to come back and disown me. He was the sort of man I have a notion you'd have liked. He'd be down to the office before the doors were open, and he'd stay until some one put him out. I guess he was born that way. But I don't believe he ever stayed up after ten o'clock at night in his life. Maybe there wasn't as much doing in New York after ten in those days as there is now. 

 I don't want to make any excuses, but, true as you're living, if I turned in at ten I might just as well set up business in the Fiji Islands. It's about that time the evening really begins. How do you work it yourself? I wish you'd tell me how you get in on time, looking fresh as a daisy. And what sort of an alarm-clock do you use? I bought one the other day as big as a snare-drum, and the thing never made a dent. Then I tried having Nora call me, but I only woke up long enough to tell her to get out and went to sleep again. If your system isn't patented I wish you'd tell me what it is. In the mean while, I'm going to sit up all night if I can't get up any other way. 

 Because I'm going to make the office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves on time, beginning to-morrow morning. You watch me. And I'll make up for the time I've overdrawn on lunches by getting back in twenty minutes after this. As for errands--you take the time when Farnsworth sends me out again. 

 You're dead right in all you said, and if I can't make good in the next few months I won't wait for Farnsworth to fire me--I'll fire myself. But that isn't going to happen. The livest man in that office is going to be

 Yours truly, DONALD PENDLETON, JR. 

Don addressed the letter to the office, mailed it, and went home todress. But before going upstairs he called to Nora. 

"Nora, " he said, "you know that I'm in business now?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And you wouldn't like to see me fired, would you?"

"Oh, Lord, sir!" gasped Nora. 

"Then you get me up to-morrow morning at seven o'clock, because if I'mlate again that is just what is going to happen. And you know what Dadwould say to that. "

The next morning Don stepped briskly into the office five minutesahead of Miss Winthrop. 

CHAPTER XV

COST

It was quite evident that Farnsworth had something in mind; for, beginning that week, he assigned Don to a variety of new tasks--tochecking and figuring and copying, sometimes at the ticker, sometimesin the cashier's cage of the bond department, sometimes on the curb. For the most part, it was dull, uninspiring drudgery of a clericalnature, and it got on Don's nerves. Within a month he had reached theconclusion that this was nothing short of a conspiracy on Farnsworth'spart to tempt him to resign. It had the effect of making him hold onall the more tenaciously. He did his work conscientiously, and--withhis lips a little more tightly set than was his custom--kept his owncounsel. 

He had no alternative. His new work gave him little opportunity totalk with Miss Winthrop, and she was the one person in the world inwhom he felt he could confide safely and at length. She herself wasvery busy. Mr. Seagraves, having accidentally discovered her ability, was now employing her more and more in his private office. 

It was about this time that a lot of petty outside matters came up, further to vex him. Up to this point Don's wardrobe had held outfairly well; but it was a fact that he needed a new business suit, anda number of tailors were thoughtfully reminding him that, with Marchapproaching, it was high time he began to consider seriously hisspring and summer outfit. Until now such details had given himscarcely more concern than the question of food in his daily life. Some three or four times a year, at any convenient opportunity, hestrolled into his tailor's and examined samples at his leisure. Alwaysrecognizing at sight just what he wanted, no great mental strain wasinvolved. He had merely to wave his cigarette toward any pleasingcloth, mention the number of buttons desired on coat and waistcoat, and the matter was practically done. 

But when Graustein & Company announced to him their new springimportations, and he dropped in there one morning on his waydowntown, he recognized the present necessity of considering the itemof cost. It was distinctly a disturbing and embarrassing necessity, which Mr. Graustein did nothing to soften. He looked his surprise whenDon, in as casual a fashion as possible, inquired:--

"What will you charge for making up this?"

"But you have long had an account with us!" he exclaimed. "Here issomething here, Mr. Pendleton, --an exclusive weave. "

"No, " answered Don firmly; "I don't want that. But this other--yousaid you'd make that for how much?"

Graustein appeared injured. He waved his hand carelessly. 

"Eighty dollars, " he replied. "You really need two more, and I'll makethe three for two hundred. "

"Thanks. I will tell you when to go ahead. "

"We like to have plenty of time on your work, Mr. Pendleton, " saidGraustein. 

Two hundred dollars! Once upon the street again, Don caught hisbreath. His bill at Graustein's had often amounted to three timesthat, but it had not then come out of a salary of twenty-five dollarsa week. Without extra expenses he seldom had more than a dollar lefton Saturday. By the strictest economy, he figured, it might bepossible to save five. To pay a bill of two hundred dollars would atthat rate require forty working weeks. By then the clothes would beworn out. 

It was facts like these that brought home to Don how little he wasearning, and that made that ten-thousand-dollar salary appear like anactual necessity. It was facts like these that helped him to hold on. 

But it was also facts like these that called his attention to thismatter of cost in other directions. Within the next two months, oneitem after another of his daily life became reduced to figures, untilhe lived in a world fairly bristling with price-tags. Collars were somuch apiece, cravats so much apiece, waistcoats and shoes and hats somuch. As he passed store windows the price-tags were the first thinghe saw. It seemed that everything was labeled, even such articles ofcommon household use as bed-linen, chairs and tables, carpets anddraperies. When they were not, he entered and asked the prices. Itbecame a passion with him to learn the cost of things. 

It was toward the middle of May that Frances first mentioned apossible trip abroad that summer. 

"Dolly Seagraves is going, and wishes me to go with her, " sheannounced. 

"It will take a lot of money, " he said. 

"What do you mean, Don?"

One idle evening he had figured the cost of the wedding trip they hadproposed. He estimated it at three years' salary. 

"Well, the tickets and hotel bills--" he began. 

"But, Don, dear, " she protested mildly, "I don't expect you to pay myexpenses. "

"I wish to Heavens I could, and go with you!"

"We had planned on June, hadn't we?" she smiled. 

"On June, " he nodded. 

She patted his arm. 

"Dear old Don! Well, I think a fall wedding would be nicer, anyway. And Dolly has an English cousin or something who may have usintroduced at court. What do you think of that?"

"I'd rather have you right here. I thought after the season here Imight be able to see more of you. "

"Nonsense! You don't think we'd stay in town all summer? Don, dear, Ithink you're getting a little selfish. "

"Well, you'd be in town part of the summer. "

She shook her head. 

"We shall sail early, in order to have some gowns made. But if youcould meet us there for a few weeks--you do have a vacation, don'tyou?"

"Two weeks, I think. "

"Oh, dear, then you can't. "

"Holy smoke, do you know what a first-class passage costs?"

"I don't want to know. Then you couldn't go, anyway, could you?"

"Hardly. "

"Shall you miss me?"

"Yes. "

"That will be nice, and I shall send you a card every day. "

"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed. "If your father would only go brokebefore then. If only he would!"

Stuyvesant did not go broke, and Frances sailed on the first ofJune. Don went to the boat to see her off, and the band on the deckplayed tunes that brought lumps to his throat. Then the hoarse whistleboomed huskily, and from the Hoboken sheds he watched her until shefaded into nothing but a speck of waving white handkerchief. Intwenty minutes he was back again in the office of Carter, Rand &Seagraves--back again to sheets of little figures with dollar signsbefore them. These he read off to Speyer, who in turn pressed theproper keys on the adding-machine--an endless, tedious, irritatingtask. The figures ran to hundreds, to thousands, to tens ofthousands. 

Nothing could have been more uninteresting, nothing more meaningless. He could not even visualize the sums as money. It was like adding somany columns of the letter "s. " And yet, it was the accident of anunfair distribution of these same dollar signs that accounted for thefact that Frances was now sailing out of New York harbor, while heremained here before this desk. 

They represented the week's purchase of bonds, and if the name"Pendleton, Jr. , " had appeared at the head of any of the accounts hemight have been by her side. 

Something seemed wrong about that. Had she been a steam yacht he couldhave understood it. Much as he might have desired a steam yacht, hewould have accepted cheerfully the fact that he did not have thewherewithal to purchase it. He would have felt no sense of injustice. But it scarcely seemed decent to consider Frances from this point ofview, though a certain parallel could be drawn: her clean-cut lines, her nicety of finish, a certain air of silver and mahogany about her, affording a basis of comparison; but this was from the purely artisticside. One couldn't very well go further and estimate the relativeinitial cost and amount for upkeep without doing the girl aninjustice. After all, there was a distinction between a gasoleneengine and a heart, no matter how close an analogy physicians mightdraw. 

And yet, the only reason he was not now with her was solely a detailof bookkeeping. It was a matter of such fundamental inconsequence asthe amount of his salary. He was separated from her by a singlecipher. 

But that cipher had nothing whatever to do with his regard for her. Ithad played no part in his first meeting with her, or in the subsequentmeetings, when frank admiration had developed into an ardentattachment. It had nothing to do with the girl herself, as he had seenher for the moment he succeeded in isolating her in a corner of theupper deck before she sailed. It had nothing to do with certainmoments at the piano when she sang for him. It had nothing to do withher eyes, as he had seen them that night she had consented to marryhim. To be sure, these were only detached moments which were notgranted him often; but he had a conviction that they stood forsomething deeper in her than the everyday moments. 

CHAPTER XVI

A MEMORANDUM

During that next week Don found a great deal of time in which tothink. He was surprised at how much time he had. It was as if thehours in the day were doubled. Where before he seldom had more thantime to hurry home and dress for his evening engagements, he now foundthat, even when he walked home, he was left with four or five idlehours on his hands. 

If a man is awake and hasn't anything else to do, he must think. Hebegan by thinking about Frances, and wondering what she was doing, until young Schuyler intruded himself, --Schuyler, as it happened, hadtaken the same boat, having been sent abroad to convalesce fromtyphoid, --and after that there was not much satisfaction in wonderingwhat she was doing. He knew how sympathetic Frances was, and how goodshe would be to Schuyler under these circumstances. Not that hemistrusted her in the least--she was not the kind to lose her headand forget. But, at the same time, it did not make him feel any theless lonesome to picture them basking in the sun on the deck of aliner while he was adding innumerable little figures beneath anelectric light in the rear of the cashier's cage in a downtown office. It did not do him any good whatever. 

However, the conclusion of such uneasy wondering was to force him backto a study of the investment securities of Carter, Rand & Seagraves. Right or wrong, the ten thousand was necessary, and he must get it. Onthe whole, this had a wholesome effect. For the next few weeks hedoubled his energies in the office. That this counted was proved by apenciled note which he received at the club one evening:--

 MR. DONALD PENDLETON. 

 DEAR SIR:--

 You're making good, and Farnsworth knows it. 

 Sincerely yours, SARAH KENDALL WINTHROP. 

To hear from her like this was like meeting an old friend upon thestreet. It seemed to say that in all these last three weeks, when hethought he was occupying the city of New York all by himself, she, asa matter of fact, had been sharing it with him. She too had been doingher daily work and going home at night, where presumably she ate herdinner and lived through the long evenings right here in the samecity. He seldom caught a glimpse of her even in the office now, forSeagraves took all her time. Her desk had been moved into his office. Yet, she had been here all the while. It made him feel decidedly morecomfortable. 

The next day at lunch-time Don waited outside the office for her, and, unseen by her, trailed her to her new egg sandwich place. He waiteduntil she had had time to order, and then walked in as if quite byaccident. She was seated, as usual, in the farthest corner. 

"Why, hello, " he greeted her. 

She looked up in some confusion. For several days she had watched theentrance of every arrival, half-expecting to see him stride in. Butshe no longer did that, and had fallen back into the habit of eatingher lunch quite oblivious of all the rest of the world. Now it seemedlike picking up the thread of an old story, and she was not quite sureshe desired this. 

"Hello, " he repeated. 

"Hello, " she answered. 

There was an empty seat next to hers. 

"Will you hold that for me?" he asked. 

"They don't let you reserve seats here, " she told him. 

"Then I guess I'd better not take a chance, " he said, as he sat downin it. 

He had not changed any in the last few months. 

"Do you expect me to go and get your lunch for you?" she inquired. 

"No, " he assured her. "I don't expect to get any lunch. "

She hesitated. 

"I was mighty glad to get your note, " he went on. "I was beginning tothink I'd got lost in the shuffle. "

"You thought Mr. Farnsworth had forgotten you?"

"I sure did. I hadn't laid eyes on him for a week. "

"Mr. Farnsworth never forgets, " she answered. 

"How about the others?"

"There isn't any one else worth speaking of in that office. "

"How about you?"

"I'm one of those not worth speaking of, " she replied. 

She met his eyes steadily. 

"Seagraves doesn't seem to feel that way. He keeps you in there allthe time now. "

"The way he does his office desk, " she nodded. "You'd better get yourlunch. "

"I'll lose my chair. "

"Oh, get your sandwich; I'll hold the chair for you, " she answeredimpatiently. 

He rose immediately, and soon came back with his plate and coffee-cup. 

"Do you know I haven't had one of these things or a chocolate éclairsince the last time I was in one of these places with you?"

"What _have_ you been eating?"

"Doughnuts and coffee, mostly. "

"That isn't nearly so good for you, " she declared. 

He adjusted himself comfortably. 

"This is like getting back home, " he said. 

"Home?"

She spoke the word with a frightened, cynical laugh. 

"Well, it's more like home than eating alone at the other places, " hesaid. 

"They are all alike, " she returned--"just places in which to eat. "

She said it with some point, but he did not see the point. He took abite of his egg sandwich. 

"Honest, this tastes pretty good, " he assured her. 

He was eating with a relish and satisfaction that he had not known fora long time. It was clear that the credit for this was due in some wayto Sarah Kendall Winthrop, though that was an equally curiousphenomenon. Except that he had, or assumed, the privilege of talkingto her, she was scarcely as intimate a feature of his life as Nora. 

"How do you like your new work?" she inquired. 

"It's fierce, " he answered. "It's mostly arithmetic. "

"It all helps, " she said. "All you have to do now is just to keep atit. Keeping posted on the bonds?"

"Yes. But as fast as I learn a new one, it's sold. "

"That's all right, " she answered. "The more you learn, the better. Some day Mr. Farnsworth will call you in and turn you loose on yourfriends. "

"You think so?"

"I know it, if you keep going. But you can't let up--not for oneday. "

"If I can only last through the summer, " he reflected aloud. "Have youever spent a summer in town?"

"Where else would I spend a summer?" she inquired. 

"I like the mountains myself. Ever been to Fabyan House?"

She looked to see if he was joking. He was not. He had spent the lastthree summers very pleasantly in the White Mountains. 

"No, " she answered. "A ten-cent trolley trip is my limit. "

"Where?"

"Anywhere I can find trees or water. You can get quite a trip right inCentral Park, and it's good fun to watch the kiddies getting anairing. "

There was a note in her voice that made him turn his head toward her. The color sprang to her cheeks. 

"It's time I was getting back, " she announced as she rose. "This isMr. Seagraves's busy day. "

"But look here; I haven't finished my éclair!"

"Then you'd better devote the next five minutes to that, " sheadvised. 

She disappeared through the door, and in another second was blendedwith a thousand others. 

Don drew out his memorandum book and made the following entry:--

"Visit Central Park some day and watch the kiddies. "

CHAPTER XVII

ON THE WAY HOME

Frances wrote him enthusiastically from London. In her big, sprawlinghandwriting the letter covered eight pages. Toward the end sheadded:--

I miss you quite a lot, Don, dear, especially on foggy days. Pleasedon't work too hard, and remember that I am, as always, Your FRANCES. 

Well, that was something to know--that she was always his, even inLondon. London was a long way from New York, and of course he couldnot expect her to go abroad and then spend all her time writing tohim. He went up to the club after reading this, and wrote her a lettertwenty pages long. It was a very sentimental letter, but it did himgood. The next day he returned to the office decidedly refreshed. Infact, he put in one of the best weeks there since he had taken hisposition. When Saturday came he was sorry that it was a half-holiday:he would have liked to work even through Sunday. 

He left the office that day at a little before twelve, and stood onthe corner waiting for Miss Winthrop. They had lunched together everyday during the week; but he had not mentioned meeting her to-day, because he had come to the conclusion that the only successful way todo that was to capture her. So she came out quite jauntily andconfidently, and almost ran into him as he raised his hat. 

She glanced about uneasily. 

"Please--we mustn't stand here. "

"Then I'll walk a little way with you. "

So he accompanied her to the Elevated station, and then up the steps, and as near as she could judge purposed entering the train with her. He revealed no urgent business. He merely talked at random, as he hadat lunch. 

She allowed two trains to pass, and then said:--

"I must go home now. "

"It seems to me you are always on the point of going home, " hecomplained. "What do you do after you get there?"

"I have a great many things to do, " she informed him. 

"You have dinner?"

"Yes. "

"Sometimes I have dinner too, " he nodded. "Then what do you do?"

"I have a great many things to do, " she repeated. 

"I don't have anything to do after dinner, " he said. "I just wanderaround until it's time to go to bed. "

"That's a waste of time. "

"I know it. It's just killing time until the next day. "

She appeared interested. 

"You have many friends?"

"They are all in London and Paris, " he answered. 

"You have relatives. "

"No, " he answered. "You see, I live all alone. Dad left me a house, but--well, he didn't leave any one in it except the servants. "

"You live in a house all by yourself?"

He nodded. 

Mr. Pendleton lived in a house! That was a wonderful thing to her. Shehad almost forgotten that any one lived in whole houses any more. Shewas eager to hear more. So, when the next train came along she steppedinto it, and he followed, although she had not intended to allowthis. 

"I wish you would tell me about your house, " she said wistfully. 

So, on the way uptown, he tried to describe it to her. He told herwhere it was, and that quite took away her breath; and how his fatherhad bought it; and how many rooms there were; and how it wasfurnished; and, finally, how he came to be living in it himself on asalary of twenty-five dollars a week. As she listened her eyes grewround and full. 

"My, but you're lucky!" she exclaimed. "I should think you'd want tospend there every minute you could get. "

"Why?" he asked in surprise. 

"Just because it's your house, " she answered. "Just because it's allyour own. "

"I don't see it, " he answered. 

"And what do _you_ want of ten thousand a year?" she demanded. "Youcan live like a king on what you're drawing now. "

"You don't mean that?" he asked. 

"I don't mean you ought to give up trying for the big jobs, " she saidquickly. "You ought to try all the harder for those, because that'sall that's left for you to try for. With everything else provided, youought to make a name for yourself. Why, you're free to work fornothing else. "

"On twenty-five dollars a week?"

"And a house that's all your own. With a roof over your head no onecan take away, and heat and light--why, it's a fortune and yourtwenty-five so much extra. "

"Well, I have to eat, " he observed. 

"Yes, you have to eat. "

"And wear clothes. "

She was doing that and paying her rent out of fifteen. 

"I don't see what you do with all your money, " she answered. 

At this point she stepped out of the train, and he followed her. Shewent down the stairs to the street, and he continued to follow. Shewas on her way to the delicatessen store to buy her provisions for thenight and Sunday. Apparently it was his intention to go there withher. At the door of the little shop she stopped. 

"I'm going in here, " she informed him, as if that concluded theinterview. 

He merely nodded and opened the door for her. She was beginning to beworried. At this rate there was no knowing but what he might followher right home. 

"I'm going to buy my provisions for to-morrow, " she further informedhim. 

"I suppose I must get something too, " he answered. "Can't I buy ithere?"

"It's a public place, " she admitted. 

"Then come on. "

So they entered together, and Hans greeted them both with a smile, asif this were the most natural thing in the world. But Miss Winthropherself was decidedly embarrassed. This seemed a very intimatebusiness to be sharing with a man. On the other hand, she did notpropose to have her plans put out by a man. So she ordered half apound of butter and a jar of milk and some cheese and some cold roastand potato salad for that night and a lamb chop for Sunday, and one ortwo other little things, the whole coming to eighty-five cents. 

"Now, " he asked, when she had concluded, "what do you think _I'd_better order?"

Her cheeks were flushed, and she knew it. 

"I'm sure I don't know, " she answered. 

He saw some eggs. 

"I might as well have a dozen eggs to start with, " he began. 

"Is there only yourself?" she inquired. 

"Yes, " he answered. 

"Then I should think a half-dozen would do. "

"A half-dozen, " he corrected the order. 

Then he thought of chops. 

"A pound or two of chops, " he ordered. 

"If you have eggs for breakfast, you will need chops only for dinner. Two chops will be enough. "

Before she was through she had done practically all his ordering forhim, --because she could not bear to see waste, --and the total came toabout one half what it usually cost him. He thought there must be somemistake, and insisted that Hans make a second reckoning. The totalwas the same. 

"I shall trade with you altogether after this, " he informed thepleased proprietor. 

There were several packages, but Hans bound them together into tworather large-sized ones. With one of these in each hand, Don came outupon the street with Miss Winthrop. 

"I'm going home now, " she announced. 

"There you are again!" he exclaimed. 

"But I must. "

"I suppose you think I ought to go home. "

"Certainly. "

"Look here--doesn't it seem sort of foolish to prepare two lunches intwo different places. Doesn't it seem rather wasteful?"

Offhand, it did. And yet there was something wrong with that argumentsomewhere. 

"It may be wasteful, but it's necessary, " she replied. 

"Now, is it?" he asked. "Why can't we go downtown somewhere and lunchtogether?"

"You must go home with your bundles, " she said, grasping at the mostobvious fact she could think of at the moment. 

"If that's the only difficulty, I can call a messenger, " he repliedinstantly. 

"And lose all you've saved by coming 'way up here? I won't listen toit. "

"Then I'll go home with them and come back. "

"It will be too late for lunch then. "

"I can take a taxi and--"

"No wonder your salary isn't enough if you do such things!" sheinterrupted. "If you had ten thousand a year, you would probablymanage to spend it all. "

"I haven't a doubt of it, " he answered cheerfully. "On the other hand, it would get me out of such predicaments as these. "

Apparently he was content to stand here in front of the little shopthe rest of the afternoon, debating this and similar points. It wasnecessary for her to take matters into her own hands. 

"The sensible thing for you to do is to go home and have lunch, " shedecided. 

"And then?"

"Oh, I can't plan your whole day for you. But you ought to get out inthe sunshine. "

"Then I'll meet you in the park at three?"

"I didn't say that. "

"Will you come?"

She was upon the point of saying no, when she made the mistake ofmeeting his eyes. They were honest, direct, eager. It was so easy topromise whatever they asked and so hard to be always opposing them. She answered impulsively:--

"Yes. "

But she paid for her impulse, as she generally did, by being sorry assoon as she was out of sight of him. The first thing she knew, shewould be back where she was a month ago, and that would neverdo--never do at all. 

CHAPTER XVIII

A DISCOURSE ON SALARIES

Until Miss Winthrop allowed Pendleton to spend with her that afternoonin the park, the period between the close of business on Saturday andthe opening on Monday had furnished her with a natural protectivebarrier. On one side of this stood the business world of Carter, Rand& Seagraves, to which Pendleton himself belonged; on the other sidewas her own private, personal world. Now that barrier was down. Without realizing at the time the significance of his request, --arequest so honestly and smilingly made that it took her off herguard, --she had allowed him, for a period of a couple of hours, toenter that personal world. By her side he had explored with her thefamiliar paths in the park which until then had been all her own. Hehad made himself a part of them. Never again could she follow themwithout, in a sense, having him with her. 

She realized this because when, at five o'clock, she had told him toleave her at the foot of the Elevated, she had watched him out ofsight, and then, instead of going home as she intended, she had turnedand gone back to the park. She had a vague notion that she must puther life back upon its normal basis before returning to her room. Ifonly for a few moments, she must go over the old paths alone. 

It was impossible. Everywhere she turned, it was to recall somecareless phrase or gesture or expression of his--to react to themagain exactly as when he had been with her. And this man had nothingwhatever to do with the office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves. She couldnot force him back there; he insisted upon remaining on the personalside of the barrier. 

It was curious how quickly she accepted the situation after her firststartled surprise. After all, if she was going to retain her interestin him in any way, it was as necessary to help him outside the officeas within. One opportunity had been offered her that very afternoon inmaking him understand that it was perfectly possible to enjoy ahalf-holiday without spending all the money in his pocket. 

His attitude toward money puzzled her. In one way he seemed toplace too much value upon it, and in another way not enough. Heoveremphasized the importance of a ten-thousand-dollar salary, making that the one goal of his business efforts, and then calmlyproposed squandering dollar bills on confectionery and what not asan incident to as simple an amusement as a walk in the park. Heneither knew how little a dollar was worth, nor how much. She herselfhad learned out of hard experience, and if she could only make himunderstand--well, that at least furnished her with some sort ofexcuse for allowing this new relationship to continue. 

For all any one knows, there may be some divine reason that promptswomen to find excuses in such matters--which, in a way, forces themwilly-nilly to the making of such excuses. 

And yet, she had to admit that it was stretching the excuse pretty farwhen, a week later, she meekly allowed him to come with her on herusual Sunday outing into the country. By steady cross-examination hehad made her divulge the fact that it was her interesting habit toprepare a luncheon of bread and butter and cake, and, taking a train, to spend the day by the side of a brook she had discovered. 

"Fine, " he nodded. "Next Sunday I'll go with you. "

That afternoon he started making his preparations. 

Obviously, the first thing necessary was a luncheon basket, and on hisway uptown he saw one of English wicker that took his fancy. It hadcompartments with bottles and a whole outfit of knives and forks andplates and little drinking-cups and what not. What it cost is nobody'sbusiness. Then he stopped at a very nice grocery store on Fifth Avenueand asked the advice of the clerk about the more substantial contents, and the clerk gave his advice very willingly. He bought some Frenchsardines and English marmalade, and some fruit and confectionery andsome strictly fresh eggs and dainty crackers and some jelly and olivesand cheese and several other little things. 

"Now, " suggested the clerk, "a small chicken roasted and served coldwould be very nice. "

"Right, " nodded Don. 

"I could order it for you from here. "

"Right again, " agreed Don. 

It was to be sent to the house, so that Nora could have it roastedthat afternoon. 

He accomplished these things on his way uptown, and felt quitesatisfied with himself. This preparing of a picnic basket was, afterall, a very simple matter. 

When Miss Winthrop came into the station for the nine-thirty, he waswaiting for her with the big wicker basket in his hand. 

They rode to a little village hardly large enough to have a name, andgetting out there took to the open road. 

Don enjoyed the tramp of three miles that followed, but, on the whole, he was glad when they reached the border of the brook. The walking andthe flowers and the scenery occupied too much of the girl's attention. Not only that, but this English wicker basket became heavy in thecourse of time. At the end of a mile or so it seemed as if the clerkmust have lined the bottom of his basket with stones. Don meant toinvestigate at the first opportunity. 

The stream that she had discovered only after several seasons ofardent exploration was not, geographically considered, of any especialimportance to the world at large. But behind the clump of alders outof which it crept was a bit of pasture greensward about as big as aroom. Here one might lunch in as complete seclusion as if in theCanadian woods or in the heart of Africa. 

She was as eager to have him pleased as if this were some house of herplanning. "It's a better dining-place than any in town, isn't it?" sheasked. 

"I should say so, " he nodded. 

With her permission, he lighted a cigarette and, stretching himselfout on the grass, enjoyed it as only a man can who has limited hissmokes to so many a day. She sat near the brook, and she too was quitecontent and very comfortable. 

"I don't see why you didn't tell me about this place before, " heobserved. 

"I wasn't quite sure you'd like it here, for one thing, " sheanswered. 

"Why not?"

"It isn't a very gay place, is it?"

"It's considerably gayer than my house on a Sunday, " he answered. 

"It's your own fault you don't enjoy your house more, " she declared. 

"How is it?"

"Why, it's a wonderful thing to have a house all of your own. I usedto pretend this was a house all of my own. "

"Don't you any longer?"

She was wondering how it would be about that, now that she had allowedhim to enter. Of course, she might treat him merely as a guest here;but that was difficult, because the only thing she based her sense ofownership on was the fact that no one else knew anything about theplace. She shook her head. 

"It's hard to pretend anything except when you're alone, " sheanswered. 

He sat up. 

"Then you oughtn't to have let me come here with you. "

She smiled. 

"How could I help it? You just came. "

"I know it, " he admitted. "I'm always butting in, and you ought totell me so every now and then. "

"Would that make any difference?"

"I don't know as it would, " he admitted. "But it might make meuncomfortable. "

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I think you manage to makeyourself uncomfortable enough, as it is. And that's absurd, becausejust being a man ought to keep you happy all the time. "

"I don't see how you figure that, " he answered. 

"Being a man is being able to do about anything you wish. "

"Don't you believe it, " he replied. "Having money is the only thingthat makes you able to do what you wish. "

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "Are you going back to that ten thousand ayear?"

"Pretty soon now it will be September, " he reflected irrelevantly. 

"And then?"

"I had rather hoped to get it by then. "

"Well, you won't, so you'd better forget it. I shouldn't wonder butwhat you received a raise to two thousand if Farnsworth gets you outselling, and that ought to satisfy you. "

Don looked up. Somehow, every time she put it that way it did soundenough. Beside the brook it sounded like plenty. 

"Look here, " he exclaimed. "Would you marry a man who was only drawinga salary of two thousand?"

For a moment the question confused her, but only for a moment. 

"If I was willing to take my chance with a man, " she said, "his salaryof two thousand would be the least of my troubles. "

"You mean you think two could live on that?"

"Of course they could, " she answered shortly. 

"And have enough to buy clothes and all those things?"

"And put money in the bank if they weren't two fools, " she replied. 

"But look here, " he continued, clinging to the subject when it wasquite evident she was willing to drop it. "I've heard that hats costfifty dollars and more apiece, and gowns anywhere from two hundred tofive. "

"Yes, " she nodded; "I've heard that. "

"Well, don't they?" he persisted. 

"I don't remember ever getting any bill of that size, " she answeredwith a smile. 

"What do your bills amount to?" he inquired. 

Miss Winthrop hesitated a moment. 

"If you want to know, " she answered finally, "this hat cost me somethree dollars with the trimmings. And if I ever paid more thantwenty-five dollars for a suit, I'd want some one to appoint aguardian for me. "

There certainly was a wide margin of difference here in the estimatesmade by two women--a difference not accounted for, as far as Don couldsee, in the visible results. He would have liked to continue more intodetails, but Miss Winthrop rose as if to put an end to this subject. 

"I'm hungry, " she announced. 

"Right, " he nodded. "There's my basket over there, and I'll let youset the table. "

Her idea had been that he was to eat his luncheon and she hers. However, she had no objection to making things ready for him. So shebrought the basket over in front of him and opened it. She gave onelook into it. 

"Did you buy all this?" she demanded. 

"Why, yes, " he answered. 

She removed the napkin and saw the cold chicken. 

"Didn't you know any better, or were you just trying to see how muchmoney you could throw away?" she inquired. 

"Don't you like chicken?"

"Yes, I like chicken, " she answered. 

"There are other things underneath, and hot coffee in the bottles, " heannounced. 

Just to see how far he had gone, she took out the other things. Shecaught her breath. 

"Well, it's your own affair, " she commented. "But, if you eat allthis, I'm sorry for you. "

She spread a napkin before him and placed the chicken on it, surrounding it with the tin of sardines, the boxes of crackers, thejar of marmalade, the cheese, the confectionery, and other things. Then she unrolled her own package of sandwiches, and proceeded tomunch one. 

"Look here!" he exclaimed. "You didn't think I bought this all formyself?"

"I'd rather think that than to think you thought I was silly enough towant you to throw away your money. "

He was carving the chicken, and he handed her a portion upon one ofthe bright aluminum plates. But she shook her head in refusal. 

"You aren't going to have any of this?"

"No, thank you. "

"I call that rather too bad, because if you don't it will be wasted. "

"It was wasted when you bought it. "

"But you didn't tell me what to get. "

"I told you we'd each bring our own luncheon, " she reminded him. 

"And so we did; but I don't call it very friendly of you not to sharewith me. "

"I have quite enough of my own. "

She seemed determined about the matter, so he put all the things backagain in the basket, closed and fastened the lid, and, placing it toone side, lighted a fresh cigarette. She watched him in amazement. 

"Aren't you going to eat your lunch?" she demanded. 

"I refuse to eat alone. "

"I'm the one who is eating alone, " she said. 

"That seems to be what you want. "

"You've no right to do things and then blame me for them, " sheprotested. 

"You're doing all the blaming yourself, " he returned. 

For a moment she continued to eat her sandwich in silence and to watchhis set face. She was quite sure he would remain stubborn in the standhe had taken. 

"It was silly enough to buy all those expensive things, but it wouldbe even sillier to throw them away, " she asserted. 

"It would at least be too bad, " he confessed. "But I can't help it, can I? I can't _make_ you eat, you know. "

There he went again, placing the whole blame on her. 

"Hand me that basket, " she ordered. 

He handed her the basket, and she brought out the delicacies. 

"Next time I shall prepare both lunches, " she declared. 

"That will be very nice, " he nodded. 

CHAPTER XIX

A LETTER

Letter from Miss Frances Stuyvesant to Donald Pendleton, Esq. :--

 PARIS, FRANCE, June 20. 

 DEAR OLD DON:--

I'm having a very good time, Don, dear, and I know you'll be glad tohear that. Dolly has a great many friends in Paris, and so has Dad, and so has Chic. Between them all we are very gay. But it is rainingto-day, and somehow I've been worrying about your being in town withnothing to do but work. I do hope you are taking care of yourself andrunning to the shore or the mountains for the week-ends. 

Now I must hurry up and dress; but please remember that I am still, asalways, Your FRANCES. 

CHAPTER XX

STARS

At lunch one warm Wednesday, Don suggested to Miss Winthrop that afterthe close of business they take a car for the beach instead of goingto their respective homes. 

"We can go down there, have our supper, and then get out of the crowdand smell the ocean awhile, " he said. 

He had a knack for putting in a most reasonable light anything hewished to do. It was a feature of his selling gift, and she recognizedit as such. 

"What do you say?" he pressed her. 

She blushed at her own hesitancy. 

"Oh, I'll go, " she answered. 

The incident remained uppermost in her thoughts all the rest of theafternoon. If she had known about this excursion the day before, shewould have put on a different shirt-waist. She had a new silk waistwhich was very pretty and which she had meant to wear next Sunday. 

He met her at the Elevated station, but it was she who had to directhim to the proper trolley for Coney, or they might have landedanywhere along the Sound. 

Stopping only long enough to buy an ice for supper and a bag ofpeanuts, they sought the beach. He threw himself down full length onthe sand, and she sat with her hands clasped over her knees. The saltair swept her cheeks and cooled them, and the waves before her ran upthe beach in play and song. This was certainly a decided improvementover such a night in her room. 

"See those stars!" he exclaimed, as if this were the first time he hadever seen them. 

She lifted her eyes and looked at them. 

"I often look at them, " she said. 

Then she laughed gently to herself. 

"Do you know what I do when I'm silly enough to want jewels?" sheasked. 

"What?"

"I take a look at those stars, and then I don't want jewels anymore. "

"A man could give away diamonds by the handful if women would takethat kind, " he exclaimed. "See that big fellow up there?" He pointedit out, and she nodded. 

"I'll give you that one, " he offered. 

She laughed lightly--confidently. 

"But I don't have to come to you or to any one, " she reminded him. "Ican just give it to myself. "

"That isn't quite the same thing, is it?"

No, it was not quite the same thing. She knew it. But she was nottelling all she knew. 

"It's a wonder to me you've never married, " he said. 

She caught her breath. She had come to look for unexpected remarksfrom him, but this was a trifle more unexpected than usual. She triedto laugh as she usually did, but she could not laugh. 

"I suppose you've figured out that, with all your free diamonds, you're better off as you are, " he suggested. 

She did not answer. 

"Is that the way of it?" he persisted. 

She tried to make her voice natural, but there was a tightening in herthroat. 

"I haven't done much figuring of any kind along that line, " she said. 

He was looking out to sea. 

"I don't know but what both men and women are better off unmarried, "he said. 

"They aren't, " she answered. 

It was some one within her rather than she herself who spoke. Heturned to look at her, but her eyes were out at sea. 

"You mean that?" he said. 

"I mean it, " she answered. 

"Even if a man hasn't much money?"

She turned her eyes again to the sky. 

"What has money to do with the stars?" she asked. 

"Do you think a man in my position has any right to ask a woman tomarry him?"

"What has your position to do with it?" she asked. 

"It has a lot if the woman wants five times what I'm earning, " heanswered. 

She gave a little startled cry. The stars swam before her. 

"Oh!" she gasped. "You mean--you mean you're thinking of some onelike--like that?"

"Yes, " he answered. 

He had a vague notion this was not the sort of thing one ordinarilydiscussed with another woman. But Miss Winthrop was different fromother women: she had both experience and common sense. 

"I asked her to marry me a year ago, " he said. 

The stars were still swimming before her. 

"And--and she said--?"

"She said she thought I ought to wait until I was earning tenthousand. "

"And that's the reason you--you wanted the ten thousand?"

"Yes. You didn't think I wanted it for myself, did you?"

"I didn't know, " she answered. 

It was like a load removed from his shoulders. He breathed freer. 

"You're the most sensible woman I ever met, and I thought you couldhelp me. "

She hated that word sensible now, though when Mr. Seagraves had usedit to her it had seemed like a compliment. 

"You see, I had plenty of money when we were first engaged, and so itdidn't make any difference, even if she had plenty too. Then, when Dadtied up my share, why, it made things different. We talked it over anddecided that ten thousand was about right; but--well, I didn't thinkit would take so long to get it. "

"Where is--where is she now?" Miss Winthrop demanded. 

"She went abroad in June to stay until September. "

"And left you here?"

"Of course. I couldn't go. "

"And left you here?" she repeated. 

"That's what you get for being in business, " he explained. "We hadplanned to go together--on our honeymoon. "

The air was getting chill. She shivered. 

"Aren't you warm enough?" he asked. 

He started to remove his jacket to throw over her shoulders, but sheobjected. 

"I'm all right. "

"Better put it on. "

"No; I don't want it. "

They were silent a moment, and then she said, almost complainingly:--

"As long as you couldn't go, why didn't she stay here with you?"

The question startled him. 

"In town?" he exclaimed. 

"Why didn't she stay here and look after you?"

"Why, she couldn't do that when she was going abroad. "

"Then she had no business to go abroad, " she answered fiercely. 

"Now, look here, " he put in. "We aren't married, you know. We're onlyengaged. "

"But _why_ aren't you married?"

"We couldn't afford it. "

"That isn't true. You could afford it on half what you're earning. "

He shook his head. "You don't know. "

"She should have married you, and if she wanted more she should havestayed and helped you get more. "

"And helped?" he exclaimed. 

She was looking up at the stars again. They were getting steadier. 

"It's the only way a woman can show--she cares. "

Then she rose. She was shivering again. 

"I think we'd better go now. "

"But we haven't been here a half-hour, " he protested. 

"We've been here quite a long while, " she answered. "Please, I want togo home now. "

CHAPTER XXI

IN THE DARK

An hour or so later Miss Winthrop lay in her bed, where, with the doortight locked and the gas out, she could feel just the way she feltlike feeling and it was nobody's business. She cried because shewished to cry. She cried because it was the easiest and mostsatisfactory way she knew of relieving the tenseness in her throat. She burrowed her face in the pillow and cried hard, and then turnedover on her pig-tails and sobbed awhile. It did not make anydifference, here in the dark, whether the tears made lines down herface or not--whether or not they made her eyes red, and, worst of all, her nose red. 

From sobbing, Miss Winthrop dwindled to sniveling, and there shestopped. She was not the kind to snivel very long--even by herself. She did not like the sound of it. So she took her wadded handkerchiefand jammed it once into each eye and jabbed once at each cheek, andthen, holding it tight in her clenched fist, made up her mind to stop. For a minute or two an occasional sob broke through spasmodically; butfinally even that ceased, and she was able to stare at the ceilingquite steadily. By that time she was able to call herself a littlefool, which was a very good beginning for rational thinking. 

There was considerable material upon which to base a pretty fairargument along this line. Admitting that Don Pendleton was what shehad been crying about, --a purely hypothetical assumption for the sakeof a beginning, --she was able to start with the premise that a womanwas a fool for crying about any man. Coming down to concrete facts, she found herself supplied with even less comforting excuses. If shehad been living of late in a little fool's paradise, why, she had madeit for herself. She could not accuse him of having any other part init than that of merely being there. If she went back a month, or threemonths, or almost a year, she saw herself either taking the initiativeor, what was just as bad, passively submitting. Of course, her motivehad been merely to help him in an impersonal sort of way. She hadseen that he needed help, but she had not dreamed the reason for it. She had no warning that he had been deserted by her who should havehelped him. She had no way of knowing about this other. Surely thatignorance was not her fault. 

Here is where she jabbed her handkerchief again into each eye and layback on her pig-tails long enough to get a fresh grip upon herself. Her skin grew hot, then cold, then hot again. It really had all beenmore the fault of this other than Mr. Pendleton's. She had no businessto go away and leave him for some one else to care for. She had nobusiness to leave him, anyway. She ought to have married him away backwhen he first went to work to make a fortune for her. Why didn't shetake the money it cost to go to Europe and spend it on him? She hadlet a whole year go wasted, when she had such an opportunity as this!Here was a house waiting for her; here was Don waiting for her; andshe had gone to Europe!

To put one's self in another's place--in a place of so delicate anature as this--is a dangerous business, but Miss Winthrop did not doit deliberately. Lying there in the dark, her imagination swept heron. The thought that remained uppermost in her mind was the chancethis other girl had missed. She would never have it again. In the fallDon would receive his raise and be sent out to sell, and after thathis career was assured. It remained only for him to hold steady--aneasy matter after the first year--and his income was bound to increaseby thousand-dollar jumps until he won his ten thousand and more. Andwith that there was not very much left, as far as she could see, for awoman to do. The big fight would be all over. A woman could no longerclaim a partnership; she would simply be bought. 

If last fall she had had the chance of that other, she would have hadhim out selling a month ago. Give her a year or two, and she wouldhave him in that firm or some other. She could do it. She felt thepower that minute. 

This raised a new question. What was she to do from now on? Until nowshe had had the excuse of ignorance; but there was still another monthbefore Don's fiancée would be back. And this month would count awhole lot to him. It was the deciding month. Farnsworth had beenwatching him closely, and had about made up his mind; but he was stillon the alert for any break. He had seen men go so far and then break. So had she. It was common enough. She herself had every confidence inDon, but she was doubtful about how long it was wise to leave even himalone. Men could not stand being alone as well as women. They had notthe same experience. It took a special kind of nerve to be alone andremain straight. 

Well, supposing he did break, what was that to her, now that she knewabout this other? Here was a perfectly fair and just question. The manhad made his selection and given over his future into the care of thewoman of his choice, and she alone was responsible. There could be nodispute about this. It was a fair question; and yet, as soon as sheframed it, she recognized it as unworthy of her. Furthermore, it ledto an extremely dangerous deduction--namely, that her interest, afterall, was not entirely impersonal; for if it were what difference didone woman or twenty other women make in her relations with him? Toput the matter bluntly, she was acting exactly as if she were in lovewith him herself!

When Miss Winthrop faced that astounding fact she felt exactly as ifher heart stopped beating for a full minute. Then it started again asif trying to make up for the lapse in a couple of breaths. She gaspedfor breath and, throwing off the bedclothes, jumped up and lighted thegas. Here was something to be met in the light. But, as soon as shecaught sight of her flushed cheeks and her staring eyes, she hurriedlyturned out the gas again and climbed back into bed. Here she lay likesome trapped thing, panting and helpless. Over and over again shewhispered, "I'm not! I'm not!" as if some one were bending over herand taunting her with the statement. Then she whispered, "It isn'ttrue! Oh, it isn't true!" She denied it fiercely--vehemently. Shethrew an arm over her eyes even there in the dark. 

It was such an absurd accusation! If she had been one of those silly, helpless creatures with nothing else to do in life but fall in love, it might have had some point; but here she was, a self-respecting, self-supporting girl who had seen enough of men to know distinctlybetter than to do anything so foolish. It had been the confidence bornof this knowledge that had allowed her from the start to take animpersonal interest in the man. And the proof of this was that she hadso conducted herself that he had not fallen in love with her. 

Then what in the world was she crying about and making such a fussabout? She asked herself that, and, with her lips firm together, determined that the best answer was to do no more crying and make nomore fuss. So she settled back again upon her pig-tails, and stared atthe ceiling and stared at the ceiling and stared at the ceiling. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE SENSIBLE THING

When Miss Winthrop rose the next morning, she scarcely recognized thewoman she saw in the glass as the woman she had glimpsed for a secondlast night when she had risen and lighted the gas. Her cheeks weresomewhat paler than usual, and her eyes were dull and tired. Sheturned from the glass as soon as possible, and donned a freshlylaundered shirt-waist. Then she swallowed a cup of coffee, and walkedpart way to the office, in the hope that the fresh air might dosomething toward restoring her color. In this she was successful, buttoward noon the color began to fade again. 

The problem that disturbed her the entire morning long had to do withluncheon. She recognized that here she must strike the keynote to allher future relations with Mr. Pendleton. If she was to eliminate himentirely and go back to the time when he was non-existent, then shemust begin to-day. It was so she preferred to handle disagreeabletasks. She detested compromises. When she had anything to do, sheliked to do it at once and thoroughly. If she had consulted her ownwishes and her own interests alone, she would never have seen himagain outside the office. But if she did this, what would become ofhim during this next month?

The trouble was that Don would get lonesome--not necessarily for her, but for that other. He was the sort of man who needed some one aroundall the time to take an interest in him. This deduction was based, notupon guesswork, but upon experience. For almost a year now she hadseen him every day, and had watched him react to just such interest onher part. She was only stating a fact when she said to herself that, had it not been for her, he would have lost his position monthsbefore. She was only stating another fact when she said to herselfthat even now he might get side-tracked into some clerical job. Givehim a month to himself now, and he might undo all the effort of thelast six months. Worse than that, he might fall into the clutches ofBlake and go to pieces in another way. 

There was not the slightest use in the world in retorting that this, after all, was the affair of Don and his fiancée rather than hers. Shehad brought him through so far, and she did not propose to see herwork wasted. No one would gain anything by such a course. 

The alternative, then, was to continue to meet him and to allowmatters to go on as before. It was toward the latter part of theforenoon that she reached this conclusion. All this while she had beentaking letters from Mr. Seagraves and transcribing them upon hertypewriter without an error. She had done no conscious thinking andhad reached no conscious conclusion. All she knew was that in theearly forenoon she had been very restless, and that suddenly therestlessness vanished and that she was going on with her typewritingin a sort of grim content. Half-past eleven came, and then twelve. Shefinished the letter, and went for her hat as usual, putting it onwithout looking in the glass. 

Don met her a little way from the office, and she fell into step athis side. 

"I was sort of worried about you last night, " he said. "You lookedtired. "

"I guess I was, " she answered. 

"Don't you get a vacation before long?"

She could have had her vacation a month ago, but there seemed to be noreason for taking it. She had not been able to think of any place towhich she wished to go. Then she had forgotten about it. 

"I've decided to take it next month, " she answered. 

She decided that much on the spot. 

"I suppose there's one due me, too, " he said. "Blake said somethingabout it a while ago. But I don't know what I'd do with a vacation ifI took one. "

"I should think you had something very important to do with it, " sheanswered quickly. 

"What do you mean?"

"Take it for your wedding trip. "

The suggestion made him catch his breath. "Look here, " he exclaimed. "That means getting married!"

"Surely it does, " she nodded. 

They had reached the little restaurant, and she hurried in. Withoutwaiting for his assistance, she secured a cup of coffee and a sandwichfor herself. Then she found a chair and sat down. She did not know howshe was ever going to swallow anything, but she had to have somethingto do to occupy her hands. 

"You put that up to a man as if it were the easiest thing in theworld, " he observed, sitting in the next chair. 

"Well, it is, isn't it--once you've made up your mind?"

"Looks to me as if it was one thing to make up your mind to getmarried some day, and another really to get married. "

"It's better to do it than to waste your time thinking about it, " shedeclared. "When Farnsworth hands you that raise, believe me, he'llwant you to have both feet on the ground. "

"Eh?"

"He won't want you to be drifting in with only three hours' sleep, theway you did most of last winter. He has a lot more confidence inmarried men, anyhow. "

Don laughed. 

"That phrase makes a man feel ten years married. "

She had been trying hard to eat her lunch, but without much success. He noticed this. 

"What's the matter with you?" he inquired. 

"I don't happen to be hungry, that's all, " she answered. 

"You didn't catch cold last night?"

"No. "

"But look here--"

"Oh, I'm all right, " she answered. 

He went to the counter and returned with some doughnuts for himselfand a piece of cake for her. 

"This looked so good I thought you might like it, " he said, as heplaced it on the arm of her chair. "It's so much easier to talk wheneating. I want to hear more about this scheme of yours for marrying meoff. "

"It isn't exactly my suggestion. "

"You proposed it a minute ago. "

"All I said was that if you mean to get married, you'd better do itright away and be done with it. "

"During my vacation?"

She brought her lips together. 

"Yes. "

"Do you know, that rather appeals to me, " he answered thoughtfully. 

She turned aside her head. 

"It's the only sensible thing, " she assured him. 

"It would give a man a chance to settle down and attend to business. "

"And give his wife a chance to help him. "

"By Jove, I'm going to propose that to Frances the day she lands!" heexclaimed. 

He was finishing his last doughnut. Miss Winthrop rose. Once outside, she could breathe freely. She said:--

"Her--her name is Frances?"

"Frances Stuyvesant, " he nodded. 

"When do you expect her home?"

"The first of September. "

"Then you'd better put in a bid to have your vacation the first twoweeks in September, " she advised. "Business will begin to pick upright after that, and Farnsworth will need you. "

CHAPTER XXIII

LOOKING AHEAD

It was now the first week in August. If she could sustain his interestin the project for three weeks and get him married in the fourth, thenshe could settle back into the routine of her life. It was the onlypossible way of straightening out the tangle. Once he was safelymarried, that was the end. Their relations would cease automatically. The conventions would attend to that. As a married man he, of course, could not lunch with her or spend Saturday afternoons in the park withher, or Sunday in the country with her, or mid-week evenings anywherewith her. He would be exiled from her life as effectively as if hehimself should go to Europe. In fact, the separation would be evenmore effective, because there would not be any possible hope of hiscoming back. For her it would be almost as if he died. 

Back in her room that night, Miss Winthrop saw all these things quiteclearly. And she saw that this was the only way. In no other waycould she remain in the office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves. If he didnot marry in September, --she had applied that afternoon for her ownvacation to parallel his, --then she must resign. Unmarried, he wouldbe as irresponsible this coming winter as he was last, and if sheremained would be thrown back upon her. She could not allow that--shecould not endure it. 

She had lost so many things all at once. She did not realize until nowhow much dreaming she had done in these last few months. Dreams ofwhich at the time she had scarcely been conscious returned to-night tomock her with startling vividness. It was not so much that she wishedto be loved as that she wished to love. That was where she haddeceived herself. Had Don made love to her, she would have recognizedthe situation and guarded herself. But this matter of loving him wasan attack from a quarter she had not anticipated. 

In the next three weeks she left him little chance to think ofanything but of his work and of Frances. She talked of nothing else atlunch; she talked of nothing else on Saturday afternoons and onSundays and whenever they met on other days. This had its effect. Itaccustomed him to associate together the two chief objectives in hislife until in his thoughts they became synonymous. For the first timesince their engagement, he began to think of Frances as an essentialfeature of his everyday affairs. 

He began to think about what changes in the house would be necessarybefore she came. He talked this over with Miss Winthrop. 

"I wish you could come up and look the place over before Frances getshere, " he said to her one day. 

If the color left her face for a second, it came back the next withplenty to spare. The idea was preposterous, and yet it appealed to herstrangely. 

"I wish I could, " she answered sincerely. 

"Well, why can't you?" he asked. 

"It's impossible--of course, " she said. 

"I could arrange a little dinner and ask some one to chaperon, " hesuggested. 

"It's out of the question, " she answered firmly. "You can tell me allabout it. "

"But telling you about it isn't like letting you see it, " he said. 

"It is almost as good, and--almost as good is something, isn't it?"

There was a suppressed note in her voice that made him look up. He hadcaught many such notes of late. Sometimes, as now, he half expected tofind her eyes moist when he looked up. He never did; he always foundher smiling. 

"I'd have Nora give everything a thorough cleaning before September, "she advised. 

"I'll do that, " he nodded. 

He wrote it down in his notebook, and that night spoke to Nora aboutit. She appeared decidedly interested. 

"It's possible that in the fall you may have some one else besides meto look after, " he confided to her in explanation. 

"It's to be soon, sir?" she asked eagerly. 

"In September, perhaps, " he admitted. 

"It would please your father, sir, " she answered excitedly. "It'slonesome it's been for you, sir. "

He did not answer, but he thought about that a little. No, it had notbeen exactly lonesome for him--not lately. That was because he waslooking ahead. That was it. 

"It hasn't seemed quite natural for you to be living on here alone, sir, " she ventured. 

"Dad lived here alone, " he reminded her. 

"Not at your age, sir, " answered Nora. 

From that moment there was much ado in the house. Don came home atnight to find certain rooms draped in dusting clothes, later to appearas fresh and immaculate as if newly furnished. This gave him a greatsense of responsibility. He felt married already. He came downtown inthe morning a little more serious, and took hold of his work withgreater vigor. 

The next few weeks passed rapidly. Frances had finished her trip toScotland and was on her way back to London. She was to sail in a fewdays now. He cabled her to let him know when she started, and threedays later she answered. He showed her reply to Miss Winthrop. 

Sail Monday on the Mauretania, but Dolly wants me to spend next twoweeks after arrival in the Adirondacks with her. 

Miss Winthrop returned the cable with a none too steady hand. 

"She mustn't do that, " she said firmly. 

"Of course she mustn't, " he agreed. "You see, she doesn't know she isto be married right away. Do you think I ought to cable her that?"

"I don't think I would, " Miss Winthrop replied. "But I would let herknow I didn't approve of her arrangement. "

"Supposing I just say, 'Have other plans for you'?"

"That would do, " she nodded. 

So he sent her this message, and that evening at dinner Miss Winthropspoke to him of another matter. 

"I don't think you have shown much attention to her parents thissummer. Oughtn't you to see them and let them know what you intend?"

"Tell Stuyvesant?" he exclaimed. 

"Why should he object?" she asked. 

"I don't know as he will. Then again he might. You see, I've nevertold him just how Dad tied things up. "

"What difference does that make?" she demanded. "With the house andwhat you're earning, you have enough. "

"It isn't as much as he expects a man to give his daughter, though, --not by a long shot. "

"It's enough, " she insisted. "Why, even without the house it would beenough. "

"Yes, " he answered, with a smile. "When you say it--it's enough. Iwish Stuyvesant knew you. "

The blood came into her cheeks. She wished he wouldn't say things likethat. 

"It seems to me you ought to see him and tell him, " she saidthoughtfully. 

He shook his head. 

"What's the use of seeing him until I've seen Frances?"

"It's all settled about her. "

"That she'll marry me in September?"

"Of course, " she answered excitedly. "Why, she's been waiting a wholeyear. Do you think she'll want to wait any longer? As soon as sheknows how well you've done, why--why, that's the end of it. Of coursethat's the end of it. "

"I wish I were as confident as you!"

"You must be, " she answered firmly. "You mustn't feel any other way. The house is all ready, and you are all ready, and--that's all thereis to it. "

"And Frances is all ready?"

"When she promised to marry you she was ready, " she declared. "Youdon't understand. I guess women are different from men. They--theydon't make promises like that until they are quite sure, and when theyare quite sure they are quite ready. This last year should have beenhers. You made a mistake, but there's no sense in keeping on with themistake. Oh, I'm quite sure of that. "

She was wearing a light scarf, --this was at Jacques', --and she drew itover her shoulders. Somehow, the unconscious act reminded him of asimilar act on the beach at Coney. .. . 

CHAPTER XXIV

VACATIONS

During this next week--the week Frances was on the ocean and sailingtoward him--he gained in confidence day by day. Miss Winthrop was soabsolutely sure of her point of view that it was difficult in herpresence to have any doubts. 

Frances was due to arrive on Monday, and for Sunday he had arranged atJacques' a very special little dinner for Miss Winthrop. Miss Winthropherself did not know how special it was, because all dinners therewith him were special. There were roses upon the table. Their odorwould have turned her head had it not been for the realization thather trunk was all packed and that to-morrow morning she would be uponthe train. She had written to an aunt in Maine that she was coming--tothis particular aunt because, of the three or four she knew at all, this aunt was the farthest from New York. 

As for him, he had forgotten entirely that Monday marked the beginningof her vacation. That was partly her fault, because for the last weekshe had neglected to speak of it. 

Ordinarily she did not permit him to come all the way back to thehouse with her; but this night he had so much to talk about that shedid not protest. Yes, and she was too weak to protest, anyway. All thethings he talked about--his fears, his hopes, speculations, anddoubts--she had heard over and over again. But it was the sound of hisvoice to which she clung. To-morrow and after to-morrow everythingwould be changed, and she would never hear him talk like this again. He was excited to-night, and buoyant and quick with life. He laughed agreat deal, and several times he spoke very tenderly to her. 

They had reached her door, and something in her eyes--for the life ofhim he could not tell what--caused him to look up at the stars. Theywere all there in their places. 

"Look at 'em, " he said. "They seem nearer to-night than I've ever seenthem. "

[Illustration: "I GUESS WOMEN ARE DIFFERENT FROM MEN"]

She was a bit jealous of those stars. It had been when with her thathe had first seen them. 

"You aren't looking, " he complained. 

She turned her eyes to the sky. To her they seemed farther away thanever. 

"Maybe Frances is looking at those same stars, " he said. 

She resented the suggestion. She turned her eyes back to the street. 

"Where's the star I gave you?" he asked. 

"It's gone, " she answered. 

"Have you lost it?"

"I can't see it. "

"Now, look here, " he chided her lightly. "I don't call that very nice. You don't have a star given you every night. "

"I told you I didn't need to have them given to me, because I couldtake all I wanted myself. You don't own the stars too. "

"I feel to-night as if I did, " he laughed. "I'll have to pick outanother for you. " He searched the heavens for one that suited him. Hefound one just beyond the Big Dipper, that shone steadily and quietly, like her eyes. He pointed it out to her. 

"I'll give you that one, and please don't lose it. "

She was not looking. 

"Do you see it?" he insisted. 

She was forced to look. After all, he could afford to give her one outof so many, and it would be something to remember him by. 

"Yes, " she answered, with a break in her voice. 

"That one is yours, " he assured her. 

It was as if he added, "All the rest belong to Frances. "

She held out her hand to him. 

"Thank you for your star, " she said. "And--and I wish you the best ofluck. "

He took her hand, but he was confused by the note of finality in hervoice. 

"I don't see any need of being so solemn about saying good-night, " hereturned. 

He continued to hold her hand firmly. 

"But it's good-bye and--God-speed, too, " she reminded him. 

"How do you make that out?"

"You're going on a long journey, and I--I'm going on a littlejourney. "

"You? Where are you going?"

He didn't want her to go anywhere. He wanted her to stay right whereshe was. Come to think of it, he always wanted her to stay right whereshe was. He always thought of her as within reach. 

"My vacation begins to-morrow, " she answered. 

"And you're going away--out of town?"

She nodded. 

"You can't do that, " he protested. "Why, I was depending upon youthese next few days. "

It was difficult for her to tell at the moment whether the strain inher throat was joy or pain. That he needed her--that was joy; that heneeded her only for the next few days--that was not joy. 

"You mustn't depend upon any one these next few days but yourself, "she answered earnestly. "And after that--just yourself and her. "

"That's well enough if everything comes out all right. "

"Make it come out right. That's your privilege as a man. Oh, that'swhy it's so good to be a man!"

"You ought to have been a man yourself, " he told her. 

She caught her breath at that, and insisted upon withdrawing herhand. 

"I used to think I'd like to be, " she answered. 

"And now?"

She shook her head. 

He had swung the talk back to her again, when the talk should havebeen all of him and Frances. 

"It's in you to get everything in the world you want, " she said. "I'msure of that. All you have to do is to want it hard enough. And nowthere are so many things right within your grasp. You won't let go ofthem?"

"No, " he answered. 

"Your home, your wife, and your work--it's wonderful to make good inso many things all at once! So--good-bye. "

"You talk as if you were not coming back again!"

"I'm coming back to Carter, Rand & Seagraves--if that's what youmean. "

"And you're coming back here--to your home?"

"Yes; I'm coming back here. "

"Then we'll just say s'long. "

"No. We must say good-bye. "

She had not wished to say this in so many words. She had hoped hewould take the new situation for granted. 

"When I come back you must look on me as--as Mr. Farnsworth does. "

"That's nonsense. "

"No; it's very, very good sense. It's the only thing possible. Can'tyou see?"

"No. "

"Then Frances will help you see. "

"She won't want to make a cad of me; I know that. "

"I'm going in now. "

She opened the door behind her. 

"Wait a moment, " he pleaded. 

"No, I can't wait any longer. Good-bye. "

She was in the dark hall now. 

"Good-bye, " she repeated. 

"S'long, " he answered. 

Softly, gently, she closed the door upon him. Then she stumbled up thestairs to her room, and in the dark threw herself face down on herbed. 

CHAPTER XXV

IN THE PARK

Either Frances had grown more beautiful in the last three months, orDon had forgotten how really beautiful she was when she left; for, when she stepped down the gangplank toward him, he was quite sure thatnever in his life had he seen any one so beautiful as she was then. Her cheeks were tanned, and there was a foreign touch in her costumethat made her look more like a lady of Seville than of New York. Asshe bent toward him for a modest kiss, he felt for a second as if hewere in the center of some wild plot of fiction. This was not she towhom he was engaged, --she whom he purposed to marry within theweek, --but rather some fanciful figure of romance. 

He stepped into her car, --he did not know even if he was asked, --andfor a half-hour listened to her spirited narration of incidents of thevoyage. It was mostly of people, of this man and that, this woman andthat, with the details of the weather and deck sports. Under ordinarycircumstances he might have enjoyed the talk; but, with all he had totell her, it sounded trivial. 

They reached the house. Even then, there was much talk of trunks andother things of no importance to him whatever. Stuyvesant hung aroundin frank and open admiration of his daughter; and Mrs. Stuyvesantbeamed and listened and stayed. Don had a feeling that, in spite ofhis position in the family, they looked upon him at this moment as anintruder. 

It was another half-hour before he found himself alone with her. Shecame to his side at once--almost as if she too had been awaiting thisopportunity. 

"Dear old Don, " she said. "It's good to see you again. But you looktired. "

"And you look beautiful!" he exclaimed. 

Now that he was alone with her, he felt again as he had at thesteamer--that this woman was not she to whom he was engaged, butsome wonderful creature of his imagination. The plans he had made forher became commonplace. One could not talk over with her thematter-of-fact details of marrying and of housekeeping and ofsalaries. And those things that yesterday had filled him withinspiration, that had appeared to him the most wonderful things inlife, that had been associated with the stars, seemed tawdry. She hadbeen to London to see the Queen, and the flavor of that adventurewas still about her. 

"Don, dear, what's the matter?"

He was so long silent that she was worried. He passed his hand overhis forehead. 

"I don't know, " he answered honestly. "There were a lot of things Iwanted to say to you, and now I can't think of them. "

"Nice things?"

"Perhaps it's the house, " he replied vaguely. "I wish we could get outof here for a little while. After lunch I want you to come to walkwith me. Will you?"

"Where, Don?"

He smiled. 

"In the park. "

"What an odd fancy!" she answered. 

"Here I get you all mixed up with your father and mother and theQueen, " he ran on. "I want to talk to you alone. "

He sounded more natural to her when he talked like that. 

"All right, Don, though there are a hundred things I ought to do thisafternoon. And I must decide about going to the mountains with Dolly. What _were_ those other plans you cabled me about?"

"Those are what I want to talk over with you, " he answered. 

"What are they? I'm dying to know. "

"I'll tell you in the park. Now I'll go, so that you'll have time todo some of the hundred things you want to do. "

He turned. 

"Don't you want to--to--"

She held out her arms to him. He kissed her lips. Then she seemed tocome back to him as she had been before she sailed. He could have saidall he wished to say then. But her mother was calling her. 

"I'll be here at two. And, this once--you must cancel every otherengagement. "

"Yes, Don. "

She came to the door with him, and stood there until he turned thecorner. He did not know where to go, but unconsciously his steps tookhim downtown. He stopped at a florist's and ordered a dozen roses tobe sent back to the house. He stopped to order a box of her favoritebonbons. Then he kept on downtown toward the office of Carter, Rand &Seagraves. But this was the first day of his vacation, and so he hadno object in going there. He must find a place to lunch. He came to adairy lunch, and then he knew exactly what it was he needed. He neededSally Winthrop to talk over his complication with him. 

As he made his way to the counter for his sandwich and coffee, hefrowned. He had told her that he would surely need her. Now she wasgone. He suddenly recalled that she had not even left her address. 

Only two days before he had been discussing with her the final detailsof the house awaiting Frances, and she had made him feel thateverything was perfect. 

"She will love it, " she had assured him. 

It was as if he heard her voice again repeating that sentence. Onceagain he reacted to her enthusiasm and saw through her eyes. She hadmade him feel that money--the kind of money Stuyvesant stood for--wasnonsense. A salary of twelve hundred a year was enough for thenecessities, and yet small enough to give his wife an opportunity tohelp. 

"When the big success comes, " she had said to him, "then Frances canfeel that it is partly her success too. A woman doesn't become a wifeby just marrying a man, does she? It's only when she has a chance tohelp that she can feel herself really a wife. "

As she said it he felt that to be true, although to him it was abrand-new point of view. 

And Sally Winthrop had given him, in her own life, a new point ofview on woman. He understood that she had never married because shehad never happened to fall in love. She had always been too busy. But if ever she did fall in love, what a partner she would make!Partner--that was the word. 

"It's in you to get everything in the world you want, " she had saidlast night, when she was leaving him. 

So it was. He gulped down the rest of his coffee and glanced at hiswatch. It was shortly after one. He must stay down here anotherhalf-hour--stay around these streets where he had walked with her andwhere she had made him see straight--until he had just time to meetFrances. 

He went out and walked past the office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves, and then walked to the Elevated station where she took the train atnight for home. The sight of the steps up which they had climbedtogether made him almost homesick. He wished to Heaven that she hadpostponed her vacation another day. If only he could see her a fewminutes right now, he would be absolutely sure of himself. 

It was after two when he reached the house, but Frances was not ready. She was never quite ready. 

"I'll wait outside, " he told the maid. 

The maid raised her brows a trifle, but answered civilly:--

"Very well, sir. "

As he walked back and forth the Stuyvesant machine also drew up beforethe door and waited. He viewed it with suspicion. He could not saywhat he had to say in that. She must be afoot, as Sally Winthropalways was. 

He was making his turn at the end of the street when she came down thesteps and before he could reach her stepped into the machine. 

"I have several little things to do after we've had our walk, " sheexplained to Don, as he came up. 

She made room for him by her side. Because he did not wish to arguebefore the chauffeur, he took his allotted place; but he himself gavethe order to the driver:--

"Central Park. "

Then he turned to her. 

"When we get there we must get out and walk. "

"Very well, Don, " she submitted; "but I think we'd be much morecomfortable right here. "

She regarded him anxiously. 

"Is anything worrying you, Don?"

"Only you, " he answered. 

"I?" she exclaimed. "If it's because of Jimmy Schuyler, you needn'tworry any more. He was very nice at first, but later--well, he wastoo nice. You see, he forgot I was engaged. "

"The little cad!" exclaimed Don. 

"You mustn't blame him too much. He just forgot. And now he is veryattentive to Dolly. "

"She allows it?"

"I think she rather likes him. She has invited him up to camp. And, Don, dear, she wants you to come too. It would be very nice if wecould all go. Can't you manage it?"

"It doesn't appeal to me just now, " he answered. 

The machine had swung into the park. He ordered the chauffeur tostop. 

"Come, " he said to Frances. 

He found the path from the drive where the children played, and hefound the bench where he had sat with Sally Winthrop. Then all she hadtold him came back to him, as it had in the dairy lunch. 

"It's about the other plans I want to tell you out here, " he beganeagerly. 

"Yes, Don. "

"I've done a lot of work while you were away, " he said proudly. 

"It seems a pity it was necessary, " she answered. 

"It's been the best thing that ever happened to me, " he corrected her. "It has made me see straight about a lot of things. And it's helped meto make good in the office. "

She looked puzzled. 

"You mean you've been made a partner or something?"

"Hardly that--yet, " he smiled. "But it's pretty sure I'll be put toselling when I come back. "

"You're going away?"

"I'm on my vacation, " he explained. "This is the first day of myvacation. "

"Oh, then you _can_ come with us?"

"I'd rather you came with me. "

"With you, Don? But where?"

"Anywhere you wish, as long as we go together and alone. Only we mustget back in two weeks. "

"Don, dear!"

"I mean it, " he went on earnestly. "I want to marry you to-morrow ornext day. Your trunks are all packed, and you needn't unpack them. We'll spend all the time we can spare in the mountains, and then comeback--to the house. It's all ready for you, Frances. It's waiting foryou. "

She stared about in fear lest some one might be overhearing hisrambling talk. 

"Don, " she gasped. 

"Nora has cleaned every room, " he ran on, "and I've saved a hundreddollars for the trip. And Farnsworth is going to give me a raisebefore December. He hasn't promised it, but I know he'll do it, because I'm going to make good. You and I together will make good. "

She did not answer. She could not. She was left quite paralyzed. Hewas leaning forward expectantly. 

"You'll come with me?"

It was a full minute before she could answer. Then she said:--

"It's so impossible, Don. "

"Impossible?"

"One doesn't--doesn't get married that way!"

"What does it matter how one gets married?" he answered. 

"What would people say?"

"I don't care what they'd say. "

"You mustn't get like that, Don, dear, " she chided him. "Why, that'sbeing an anarchist or something, isn't it?"

"It's just being yourself, little girl, " he explained more gently. "The trouble with us is, we've thought too much about other peopleand--other things. It's certain that after we're married people aren'tgoing to worry much about us, so why should we let them worry usbefore that? No, it's all our own affair. As for the salary part ofit, we've been wrong about that, too. We don't need so much as wethought we did. Why, do you know you can get a good lunch downtown forfifteen cents? It's a fact. You can get an egg sandwich, a chocolateéclair, and a cup of coffee for that. I know the place. And I'vefigured that, with the house all furnished us, we can live easy ontwenty-five a week until I get more. You don't need your ten thousanda year. It's a fact, Frances. "

She did not answer, because she did not quite know what he was talkingabout. Yet, her blood was running faster. There was a new light inhis eyes--a new quality in his voice that thrilled her. She had neverheard a man talk like this before. 

"You'll have to trust me to prove all those things, " he was runningon. "You'll have to trust me, because I've learned a lot this summer. I've learned a lot about you that you don't know yourself yet. So whatI want you to do is just to take my hand and follow. Can you dothat?"

At that moment it seemed that she could. On the voyage home she hadsat much on the deck alone and looked at the stars, and there had beenmany moments when she felt exactly as she felt now. Thinking of himand looking at the stars, nothing else had seemed to matter but justthe two of them. 

There had been a child on board who had taken a great fancy to her--achild about the age of one that was now running about the grass underthe watchful eyes of a nurse. His name was Peter, and she and Peterused to play tag together. One afternoon when he was very tired he hadcrept into her arms, and she had carried him to her steamer-chair andwrapped him in her steamer-rug and held him while he slept. Then shehad felt exactly as when she looked at the stars. All the things thatordinarily counted with her did not at that moment count at all. Shehad kissed the little head lying on her bosom and had thought ofDon--her heart pounding as it pounded now. 

"Oh, Don, " she exclaimed, "it's only people in stories who do thatway!"

"It's the way we can do--if you will. "

"There's Dad, " she reminded him. 

"He let you become engaged, didn't he?"

"Yes; but--you don't know him as well as I. "

"I'll put it up to him to-day, if you'll let me. Honest, I don't thinkit's as much his affair as ours, but I'll give him a chance. ShallI?"

She reached for his hand and pressed it. 

"I'll give him a chance, but I can't wait. We haven't time to botherwith a wedding--do you mind that?"

"No, Don. "

"Then, if he doesn't object--it's to-morrow or next day?"

"You--you take away my breath, " she answered. 

"And if he does object?"

"Don't let's think of that--now, " she said. "Let's walk a little--inthe park. It's wonderful out here, Don. "

Yes, it was wonderful out there--how wonderful he knew better thanshe. She had not had his advantages. She had not had Sally Winthrop topoint out the wonders and make a man feel them. Of course, it was notthe place itself--not the little paths, the trees, or even the big, bright sky that Frances meant or he meant. It was the sense ofindividuality one got here: the feeling of something within biggerthan anything without. It was this that permitted Sally Winthrop towalk here with her head as high as if she were a princess. It was thisthat made him, by her side, feel almost like a prince. And now Franceswas beginning to sense it. Don felt his heart quicken. 

"This is all you need, " he whispered. "Just to walk out here alittle. "

CHAPTER XXVI

ONE STUYVESANT

That evening, before Frances left Don alone in the study, she bentover him and kissed him. Then she heard her father's footsteps andran. Don was remarkably cool. So was Stuyvesant; but there was nothingremarkable about that. When his daughter told him that Don was waitingto see him, his eyes narrowed the least bit and he glanced at hiswatch. He had a bridge engagement at the club in half an hour. Then heplaced both hands on his daughter's shoulders and studied her eyes. 

"What's the matter, girlie?" he asked. 

"Nothing, Dad, " she answered. "Only--I'm very happy. "

"Good, " he nodded. "And that is what I want you to be every minute ofyour life. "

Entering his study, Stuyvesant sat down in a big chair to the right ofthe open fire and waved his hand to another opposite him. 

"Frances said you wished to talk over something with me, " he said. 

"Yes, sir, " answered Don. He did not sit down. He could think betteron his feet. "It's about our marriage. "

Stuyvesant did not answer. He never answered until the other man wasthrough. Then he knew where he stood. 

"I don't know whether or not you know the sort of will father left, "began Don. 

Stuyvesant did know, but he gave no indication of the fact. He hadbeen waiting a year for something of this sort. 

"Anyhow, " Don went on, "he took a notion to tie up most of the estate. Except for the house--well, he left me pretty nearly strapped. Beforethat, he'd been letting me draw on him for anything I wanted. When Iasked you for Frances I expected things would go on as they were. 

"When the change came, I had a talk with Frances, and we agreed thatthe thing to do was for me to go out and earn about the same sum Dadhad been handing to me. Ten thousand a year seemed at the time what weneeded. She said that was what her allowance had been. "

Again Don paused, in the hope that Stuyvesant might wish to contributesomething to the conversation. But Stuyvesant waited for him tocontinue. 

"So I went out to earn it. Barton found a position for me with Carter, Rand & Seagraves, and I started in. It's a fact I expected to get thatten thousand inside of a year. "

Don lighted a cigarette. The further he went, the less interest he wastaking in this explanation. Stuyvesant's apparent indifferenceirritated him. 

"That was a year ago, " Don resumed. "To-day I'm drawing the samesalary I started with--twelve hundred. I expect a raise soon--perhapsto twenty-five hundred. But the point is this: I figure that it'sgoing to take me some five years to get that ten thousand. I don'twant to wait that long before marrying Frances. Another point is this:I don't think any longer that it's necessary. I figure that we canlive on what I'm earning now. So I've put it up to her. "

Don had hurried his argument a little, but, as far as he wasconcerned, he was through. The whole situation was distasteful tohim. The longer he stayed here, the less it seemed to be any ofStuyvesant's business. 

"You mean you've asked my daughter to marry you on that salary?"inquired Stuyvesant. 

"I asked her this afternoon, " nodded Don. "I suggested that we getmarried to-morrow or next day. You see, I'm on my vacation, and I haveonly two weeks. "

Stuyvesant flicked the ashes from his cigar. "What was her reply?"

"She wanted me to put the proposition before you. That's why I'mhere. "

"I see. And just what do you expect of me?"

"I suppose she wants your consent, " answered Don. "Anyhow, it seemedonly decent to let you know. "

Stuyvesant was beginning to chew the end of his cigar--a bit ofnervousness he had not been guilty of for twenty years. "At least, itwould have been rather indecent not to have informed me, " he answered. "But, of course, you don't expect my consent to such an act ofidiocy. "

It was Don's turn to remain silent. 

"I've no objection to you personally, " Stuyvesant began. "When youcame to me and asked for my daughter's hand, and I found that shewanted to marry you, I gave my consent. I knew your blood, Pendleton, and I'd seen enough of you to believe you clean and straight. At thattime also I had every reason to believe that you were to have asufficient income to support the girl properly. If she had wanted tomarry you within the next month, I wouldn't have said a word at thattime. When I learned that conditions had been changed by the terms ofyour father's will, I waited to see what you would do. And I'll tellyou frankly, I like the way you've handled the situation up to now. "

"I don't get that last, " Don answered quietly. 

"Then let me help you, " Stuyvesant resumed grimly. "In the firstplace, get that love-in-a-cottage idea out of your head. It's a prettyenough conceit for those who are forced to make the best of theirpersonal misfortunes, but that is as far as it goes. Don't for amoment think it's a desirable lot. "

"In a way, that's just what I _am_ thinking, " answered Don. 

"Then it's because you don't know any better. It's nonsense. A womanwants money and wants the things she can buy with money. She'sentitled to those things. If she can't have them, then it's hermisfortune. If the man she looks to to supply them can't give them toher, then it's his misfortune. But it's nothing for him to boastabout. If he places her in such a situation deliberately, it'ssomething for him to be ashamed of. "

"I can see that, sir, " answered Don, "when it's carried too far. Butyou understand that I'm provided with a good home and a salary largeenough for the ordinary decent things of life. "

"That isn't the point, " broke in Stuyvesant. "We'll admit the girlwon't have to go hungry, but she'll go without a lot of other thingsthat she's been brought up to have, and, as long as I can supply them, things she's entitled to have. On that salary you won't supply herwith many cars, you won't supply her with the kind of clothes she isaccustomed to, you won't supply her with all the money she wants tospend. What if she does throw it away? That's her privilege now. I'veworked twenty-five years to get enough so that she can do just that. There's not a whim in the world she can't satisfy. And the man whomarries her must give her every single thing I'm able to give her--andthen something more. "

"In money?" asked Don. 

"The something more--not in money. "

He rose and stood before Don. 

"I've been frank with you, Pendleton, and I'll say I think the girlcares for you. But I know Frances better than you, and I know that, even if she made up her mind to do without all these things, it wouldmean a sacrifice. As far as I know, she's never had to make asacrifice since she was born. It isn't necessary. Get that point, Pendleton. It isn't necessary, and I'll not allow any man to make itnecessary if I can help it. "

He paused as if expecting an outburst from Don. The latter remainedsilent. 

"I've trusted you with the girl, " Stuyvesant concluded. "Up to nowI've no fault to find with you. You've lost your head for a minute, but you'll get a grip on yourself. Go ahead and make your fortune, andcome to me again. In the mean while, I'm willing to trust youfurther. "

"If that means not asking Frances to marry me to-morrow, you can't, sir. "

"You--you wouldn't ask her to go against my wishes in the matter?"

"I would, sir. "

"And you expect her to do so?"

"I hope she will. "

"Well, she won't, " Stuyvesant answered. He was chewing his cigaragain. 

"You spoke of the something more, sir, " said Don. "I think I know whatthat means, and it's a whole lot more than anything your ten thousandcan give. When I found myself stony broke, I was dazed for a while, and thought a good deal as you think. Then this summer I found thesomething more. I wouldn't swap back. "

"Then stay where you are, " snapped Stuyvesant. "Don't try to drag inFrances. "

Don prepared to leave. 

"It's a pity you aren't stony broke too, " he observed. 

"Thanks, " answered Stuyvesant. "But I'm not, and I don't intend tohave my daughter put in that position. "

"You haven't forgotten that I have a house and twelve hundred?"

"I haven't forgotten that is all you have. "

"You haven't forgotten the something more?"

Stuyvesant looked at his watch. 

"I must be excused now, Pendleton, " he concluded. "I think, on thewhole, it will be better if you don't call here after this. "

"As you wish, " answered Pendleton. "But I hope you'll come and seeus?"

"Damn you, Pendleton!" he exploded. 

Then he turned quickly and left the room. So, after all, it was he inthe end who lost his temper. 

CHAPTER XXVII

THE STARS AGAIN

Don went to the nearest telephone and rang up Frances. 

"Your father lost his temper, " he explained. "He ordered me not tocall again; so will you please to meet me on the corner right away?"

"I've just seen him, " she answered. "Oh, Don, it was awful!"

"It is the best thing that could have happened, " he said. "We have tomeet in the park now. It's the only place left. "

"Don, dear, he told me not to meet you anywhere again. He--he wasquite savage about it. "

"He had no right to tell you that, " Don answered. "Anyhow, I must seeyou. We'll talk it over under the stars. "

"But, Don--"

"Please to hurry, " he said. 

She slipped a scarf over her hair and a cape over her shoulders, andwalked to the corner, looking about fearfully. He gripped her arm andled her confidently away from the house and toward the park. The skywas clear, and just beyond the Big Dipper he saw shining steadily thestar he had given Sally Winthrop. He smiled. It was as if shereassured him. 

"What did you say to him, Don?" she panted. 

"I told him I wished to marry you to-morrow, " he answered. 

"And he--"

"He said I shouldn't. He said he could give you more with his tenthousand than I could give you with my twelve hundred. I told him Icould give you more with my twelve hundred than he could with his tenthousand. "

"I've never seen him so angry, " she trembled. 

"I'd never before seen him angry at all, " he admitted. "But, afterall, that isn't important, is it? The important thing is whether ornot he's right. That's what you and I must decide for ourselves. "

She did not quite understand. She thought her father had alreadydecided this question. However, she said nothing. In something of adaze, she allowed herself to be led on toward the park--at night abig, shadowy region with a star-pricked sky overhead. Like one led ina dream she went, her thoughts quite confused, but with the firm gripof his hand upon her arm steadying her. He did not speak again untilthe paved street and the stone buildings were behind them--until theywere among the trees and low bushes and gravel paths. He led her to abench. 

"See those stars?" he asked, pointing. 

"Yes, Don. "

"I want you to keep looking at them while I'm talking to you, " hesaid. 

Just beyond the Big Dipper he saw the star he had given SallyWinthrop. It smiled reassuringly at him. 

"What I've learned this summer, " he said, "is that, after all, theclear sky and those stars are as much a part of New York as thestreets and high buildings below them. And when you live up there alittle while you forget about the twelve hundred or the ten thousand. Those details don't count up there. Do you see that?"

"Yes, Don. "

"The trouble with your father, and the trouble with you, and thetrouble with me, until a little while ago, is that we didn't get outhere in the park enough where the stars can be seen. I'm pretty sure, if I'd been sitting here with your father, he'd have felt different. "

She was doing as he bade her and keeping her eyes raised. She saw thesteady stars and the twinkling stars and the vast purple depths. So, when she felt his arm about her, that did not seem strange. 

"It's up there we'll be living most of the time, " he was saying. 

"Yes, Don. "

"And that's all free. The poorer you are, the freer it is. That's trueof a lot of things. You've no idea the things you can get here in NewYork if you haven't too much money. Your father said that if you don'thave cash you go without, when as a matter of fact it's when you havecash you go without. "

She lowered her eyes to his. What he was saying sounded topsy-turvy. 

"It's a fact, " he ran on. "Why, you can get hungry if you don't havetoo much money; and, honest, I've had better things to eat thissummer, because of that, than I ever had in my life. Then, if youdon't have too much money, you can work. It sounds strange to saythere's any fun in that, but there is. I want to get you into thegame, Frances. You're going to like it. Farnsworth is going to let mesell next month. It's like making the 'Varsity. I'm going to have asalary and commission, so you see it will be partly a personal fight. You can help me. Why, the very things we were planning to get donewith before we married are the very things that are worth while. Wecan stand shoulder to shoulder now and play the game together. You canhave part of the fun. "

She thrilled with the magic of his voice, but his words were quitemeaningless. 

"You aren't looking at the stars, " he reminded her. She looked upagain. 

"So, " he said, "there's no sense in waiting any longer, is there? Thesooner we're married, the sooner we can begin. If we're marriedto-morrow, we'll have almost two weeks in the mountains. And then--"

She appeared frightened. 

"Oh, Don, we--we couldn't get married like that, anyway. "

"Why not?" he demanded. 

"It--it isn't possible. "

"Certainly it's possible. "

She shook her head. 

"No, no. I--I couldn't. Oh, Don, you'll have to give me time tothink. "

"There isn't time, " he frowned. 

"We must take time. I'm--I'm afraid. "

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid of myself, " she answered quickly. "Afraid of Dad. Oh, I'mafraid of every one. "

"Of me?" He took her hand. 

"When you speak of to-morrow I am, " she admitted. "While you weretalking, there were moments when--when I could do as you wish. Butthey didn't last. "

"That's because you didn't keep your eyes on the stars, " he assuredher gently. 

"That's what I'm afraid of--that I shouldn't be able to keep themthere. Don, dear, you don't know how selfish I am and--and how manythings I want. "

She was seeing herself clearly now and speaking from the depths of hersoul. 

"Maybe it isn't all my fault. And you're wonderful, Don. It's thatwhich makes me see myself. "

He kissed her hand. "Dear you, " he whispered, "I know the woman 'waydown deep in you, and it's she I want. "

She shook her head. 

"No, " she answered. "It's some woman you've placed there--some womanwho might have been there--that you see. But she isn't there, because--because I can't go with you. "

Some woman he had put there. He looked at the stars, and the littlestar by the Big Dipper was shining steadily at him. He passed his handover his forehead. 

"If she were really in me, she'd go with you to-morrow, " Frances ranon excitedly. "She'd want to get into the game. She'd want to behungry with you, and she wouldn't care about anything else in theworld but you. She--she'd want to suffer, Don. She'd be almost gladthat you had no money. Her father wouldn't count, because she'd careso much. "

She drew her cape about her shoulders. 

"Yes, " he answered in a hoarse whisper; "she's like that. "

"So, don't you see--"

"Good Lord, I do see!" he exclaimed. 

Now he saw. 

With his head swimming, with his breath coming short, he saw. But hewas as dazed as a man suddenly given sight in the glare of the blazingsun. 

Frances was frightened by his silence. 

"I--I think we'd better go back now, " she said gently. 

He escorted her to the house without quite knowing how he found theway. At the door she said:--

"Don't you understand, Don?"

"Yes, " he answered; "for the first time. "

"And you'll not think too badly of me?"

"It isn't anything you can help, " he answered. "It isn't anything Ican help, either. "

"Don't think too badly of Dad, " she pleaded. "He'll cool down soon, and then--you must come and see me again. "

She held out her hand, and he took it. Then swiftly she turned andwent into the house. He hurried back to the path--to the path where onSaturday afternoons he had walked with Sally Winthrop. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

SEEING

He saw now. Blind fool that he had been, month after month! He sank ona bench and went back in his thoughts to the first time he had everseen Sally Winthrop. She had reminded him that it was luncheon time, and when he had gone out she had been waiting for him. She must havebeen waiting for him, or he never would have found her. And she hadknown he was hungry. 

"She'd want to be hungry with you, " Frances had said. 

How had Sally Winthrop known that he was hungry? She had known, andhad shared with him what she had. 

Then incident after incident in the office came back to him. It wasshe who had taught him how to work. It was for her that he hadworked. 

Frances had used another phrase: "She'd be almost glad you had nomoney. "

There was only one woman in the world he knew who would care for a manlike that--if she cared at all. That brought him to his feet again. Heglared about as if searching for her in the dark. Why wasn't she herenow, so that he might ask her if she did care? She had no business togo off and leave him like this! He did not know where she was. 

Don struck a match and looked at his watch. It was eight-thirty. Somehow, he must find her. He had her old address, and it was possiblethat she had left word where she had gone. At any rate, this was theonly clue he had. 

He made his way back to the Avenue, and, at a pace that at timesalmost broke into a run, went toward the club and the first taxi hesaw. In twenty minutes he was standing on the steps where he had lastseen her. She had wished him to say "good-bye"; but he remembered thathe had refused to say "good-bye. "

The landlady knew Miss Winthrop's address, but she was not inclined togive it to him. At first she did not like the expression in his eyes. He was too eager. 

"Seems to me, " she argued, "she'd have told parties where she wasgoing if she wanted them to know. "

"This is very important, " he insisted. 

"Maybe it's a lot more important to you than it is to her, " shereplied. 

"But--"

"You can leave your name and address, and I'll write to her, " sheoffered. 

"Look here, " Don said desperately. "Do you want to know what mybusiness is with her?"

"It's none of my business, but--"

"I want to ask her to marry me, " he broke in. "That's a respectablebusiness, isn't it?"

He reached in his pocket and drew out a bill. He slipped it into herhand. 

"Want to marry her?" exclaimed the woman. "Well, now, I wouldn't standin the way of that. Will you step in while I get the address?"

"I'll wait here. Only hurry. There may be a late train. "

She was back in a few seconds, holding a slip of paper in her hand. 

"It's to Brenton, Maine, she's gone. "

Don grabbed the paper. 

"Thanks. "

He was halfway down the steps when she called after him:--

"Good luck to ye, sir. "

"Thanks again, " he called back. 

Then he gave his order to the driver:--

"To the Grand Central. "

Don found that he could take the midnight train to Boston and connectthere with a ten-o'clock train next morning. This would get him intoPortland in time for a connection that would land him at Brenton atfour that afternoon. He went back to the house to pack his bag. As heopened the door and went in, it seemed as if she might already bethere--as if she might be waiting for him. Had she stepped forward togreet him and announce that dinner was ready, he would not have beengreatly surprised. It was as if she had been here all this last year. But it was only Nora who came to greet him. 

"I'm going away to-night for a few days--perhaps for two weeks, " hetold Nora. 

"Yes, sir. "

"I'll wire you what my plans are--either to-morrow or next day. "

"And it is to be soon, sir?"

"I can't tell you for sure, Nora, until I've cleared up one or twolittle matters; but--you can wish me luck, anyway. "

"I'll do that, sir. "

"And the house is ready, isn't it?"

"Everything is ready, sir. "

"That's fine. Now I'm going to pack. "

His packing finished, Don went downstairs with still an hour or moreon his hands before train-time. But he did not care to go anywhere. Hewas absolutely contented here. He was content merely to wander fromroom to room. He sat down at the piano in the dark, and for a longwhile played to her--played to her just the things he knew she wouldlike. 

It was half-past eleven before he left the house, and then he wentalmost reluctantly. She was more here than anywhere in the worldexcept where he was going. He found himself quite calm about her here. The moment he came out on the street again he noticed a difference. His own phrase came back to frighten him:--

"She'd care like that--if she cared at all. "

Supposing that after he found her, she did not care?

At the station he wondered if it were best to wire her, but decidedagainst it. She might run away. It was never possible to tell what awoman might do, and Sally Winthrop was an adept at concealing herself. He remembered that period when, although he had been in the sameoffice with her, she had kept herself as distant as if across theocean. She had only to say, "Not at home, " and it was as if she said, "I am not anywhere. "

He went to his berth at once, and had, on the whole, a bad nightof it. He asked himself a hundred questions that he could notanswer--that Sally Winthrop alone could answer. Though it was onlylately that he had prided himself on knowing her desires ineverything, he was forced to leave all these questions unanswered. 

At ten the next morning he took the train for Portland. At two he wason the train for Brenton and hurrying through a strange country toher side. 

When he reached Brenton he was disappointed not to find her when hestepped from the train. The station had been so closely identifiedwith her through the long journey that he had lost sight of the factthat it existed for any other purpose. But only a few station loaferswere there to greet him, and they revealed but an indifferentinterest. He approached one of them. 

"Can you tell me where Miss Winthrop is stopping?"

The man looked blank. 

"No one of that name in this town, " he finally answered. 

"Isn't this Brenton?"

"It's Brenton, right enough. "

"Then she's here, " declared Don. 

"Is she visitin'?" inquired the man. 

Don nodded. 

"A cousin, or something. "

A second man spoke up:--

"Ain't she the one who's stopping with Mrs. Halliday?"

"Rather slight, with brown eyes, " volunteered Don. 

"Dunno the color of her eyes, " answered the first man, with a wink atthe second. "But thar's some one stoppin' thar. Been here couple daysor so. "

"That's she, " Don decided. 

He drew a dollar bill from his pocket. 

"I want one of you to take a note to her from me. "

He wrote on the back of a card:--

I'm at the station. I must see you at once. 

 DON. 

"Take that to her right away and bring me an answer, " he ordered. 

The man took both bill and card and disappeared. 

CHAPTER XXIX

MOSTLY SALLY

It was an extremely frightened girl who within five minutes appearedupon the station platform. She was quite out of breath, for she hadbeen running. As he came toward her with outstretched hands, shestared at him from head to foot, as if to make sure he was not minusan arm or a leg. 

"Won't you even shake hands with me?" he asked anxiously. 

"You--you gave me such a fright, " she panted. 

"How?"

"I thought--I thought you must have been run over. "

He seemed rather pleased. 

"And you cared?" he asked eagerly. 

She was fast recovering herself now. 

"Well, it wouldn't be unnatural to care, would it, if you expected tofind a friend all run over?"

"And, now that you find I'm not a mangled corpse, you don't care atall. "

Of course he wouldn't choose to be a corpse, because he would not havebeen able to enjoy the situation; but, on the whole, he was sorry thathe did not have a mangled hand or something to show. Evidently hiswhole hand did not interest her--she had not yet offered to take it. 

"How in the world did you get here?" she demanded. 

"I took the train. "

"But--has anything happened?"

"Lots of things have happened, " he said. "That's what I want to tellyou about. "

He looked around. His messenger was taking an eager interest in thesituation. 

"That's why I came to see you, " he explained. "Of course, if it'snecessary to confide also in your neighbor over there, I'll do it; butI thought that perhaps you could suggest some less public place. "

She appeared frightened in a different sort of way now. 

"But, Mr. Pendleton--"

"I'm going to remain here perhaps a day or two, " he interrupted. 

To him the most obvious course was for her to ask him to meet her auntand invite him to remain there. 

"Is there a hotel in town?" he asked. 

"I--I don't think so, " she faltered. 

"Then, " he decided, "I must find some sort of camping-place. If youknow a bit of woods where I can spend the night, you might directme. "

He was quite himself now. It was a relief to her. It put her quite offher guard. 

"Won't you come and meet my aunt?" she invited. 

He picked up his suitcase at once. 

"It will be a pleasure, " he answered. 

She could not imagine what her aunt would think when she appeared soabruptly escorting a young man with a suitcase, but that did not seemto matter. She knew no better than her aunt what had brought him here;but, now that he was here, it was certain that she must take care ofhim. She could not allow him to wander homelessly around the villageor permit him to camp out like a gypsy. It did not occur to her toreason that this predicament was wholly his fault. All the old feelingof responsibility came back. 

As they walked side by side down the street, he was amazed to see howmuch good even these two days in the country had done her. There wasmore color in her cheeks and more life in her walk. She was wearing amiddy blouse, and that made her look five years younger. 

She looked up at him. 

"I--I thought you had something very important to do in these next fewdays, " she reminded him. 

"I have, " he answered. 

"Then--I don't understand how you came here. "

On the train it had seemed to him that he must explain within thefirst five minutes; but, now that she was actually within sound of hisvoice, actually within reach, there seemed to be no hurry. In herpresence his confidence increased with every passing minute. For onething, he could argue with her, and whenever in the past he hadargued with her he had succeeded. 

"I needed you to explain certain things to me, " he replied. 

She looked away from him. 

"About what?" she asked quickly. 

"About getting me married. "

"Oh!" she exclaimed. 

He could not tell what she meant by the little cry. He would haveasked her had they not at that moment turned into a gate that ledthrough an old-fashioned garden to a small white cottage. 

"I'll have to run ahead and prepare Mrs. Halliday, " she said. 

So she left him upon the doorstep, and he took off his hat to thecool, pine-laden breeze that came from a mountain in the distance. Heliked this town at once. He liked the elm-lined village street, andthe snug white houses and the quiet and content of it. Then he foundhimself being introduced rather jerkily to Mrs. Halliday--a tall, thinNew England type, with kindly eyes set in a sharp face. It was evidentat once that after her first keen inspection of this stranger she waswilling to accept him with much less suspicion than Miss Winthrop. 

"I told Sally this morning, when I spilled the sugar, that a strangerwas coming, " she exclaimed. "Now you come right upstairs. I reckonyou'll want to wash up after that long ride. "

"It's mighty good of you to take me in this way, " he said. 

"Laws sake, what's a spare room for?"

She led the way to a small room with white curtains at the windows andrag rugs upon the floor and a big silk crazy-quilt on an oldfour-poster bed. She hurried about and found soap and towels for him, and left him with the hope that he would make himself at home. 

And at once he did feel at home. He felt at home just because SallyWinthrop was somewhere in the same house. That was the secret of it. He had felt at home in the station as soon as she appeared; he hadfelt at home in the village because she had walked by his side; andnow he felt at home here. And by that he meant that he felt very freeand very happy and very much a part of any section of the world shemight happen to be in. It had been so in New York, and it was sohere. 

He was downstairs again in five minutes, looking for Sally Winthrop. It seemed that Mrs. Halliday's chief concern now was about supper, andthat Sally was out in the kitchen helping her. He found that out bywalking in upon her and finding her in a blue gingham apron. Hercheeks turned very red and she hurriedly removed the apron. 

"Don't let me disturb you, " he protested. 

That was very easy to say, but he did disturb her. Then Mrs. Hallidayshooed her out of the kitchen. 

"You run right along now; I can attend to things myself. "

"I'd like to help, too, " said Don. 

"Run along--both of you, " insisted Mrs. Halliday. "You'd be morebother than help. "

So the two found themselves on the front steps again, and Donsuggested they remain there. The sun was getting low and bathing thestreet in a soft light. 

"I have something very important to say to you, " he began. 

"To me?" she exclaimed. 

Again there was the expression of astonishment and--something more. 

"It's about my getting married, " he nodded. 

"But I thought that was all settled!"

"It is, " he admitted. 

"Oh!"

"I think it was settled long before I knew it. "

"Then you're to be married right away?"

"I hope so. "

"That will be nice. "

"It will be wonderful, " he exclaimed. "It will be the most wonderfulthing in the world!"

"But why did you come 'way down here?"

"To talk it over with you. You see, a lot depends upon you. "

"Me?"

Again that questioning personal pronoun. 

"A great deal depends upon you. You are to say when it is to be. "

"Mr. Pendleton!"

"I wish you'd remember I'm not in the office of Carter, Rand &Seagraves now. Can't you call me just Don?"

She did not answer. 

"Because, " he explained, "I mean to call you Sally. "

"You mustn't. "

"I mean to call you that all the rest of my life, " he went on moresoberly. "Don't you understand how much depends upon you?"

Startled, she glanced up swiftly. What she saw in his eyes made hercatch her breath. He was speaking rapidly now:--

"Everything depends upon you--upon no one else in all the world butyou. I discovered that in less than a day after you left. It's beenlike that ever since I met you. I love you, and I've come down here tomarry you--to take you back with me to the house that's allready--back to the house you've made ready. "

She gave a little cry and covered her face with her hands. 

"Don't do that, " he pleaded. 

[Illustration: "IT'S ABOUT MY GETTING MARRIED"]

She looked as if she were crying. 

"Sally--Sally Winthrop, you aren't crying?"

He placed a hand upon her arm. 

"Don't touch me!" she sobbed. 

"Why shouldn't I touch you?"

"Because--because this is all a horrible mistake. "

"I'm trying to correct a horrible mistake, " he answered gently. 

"No--no--no. You must go back to her--right away. "

"To Frances?"

She nodded. 

"You don't understand. She doesn't want to marry me. "

"You asked her?"

"Yes. "

"And then--and then you came to me?"

"Yes, little girl. She sent me to you. She--why, it was she that mademe see straight!"

Her face was still concealed. 

"I--I wish you'd go away, " she sobbed. 

"You don't understand!" he answered fiercely. "I'm not going away. Ilove you, and I've come to get you. I won't go away until you comewith me. "

She rose to her feet, her back toward him. 

"Go away!" she cried. 

Then she ran into the house, leaving him standing there dazed. 

CHAPTER XXX

DON EXPLAINS

It seemed that, in spite of her business training and the unsentimentaloutlook on life upon which she had rather prided herself, SallyWinthrop did not differ greatly from other women. Shut up in herroom, a deep sense of humiliation overwhelmed her. He had asked thisother girl to marry him, and when she refused he had come to her! Hethought as lightly of her as that--a mere second choice when the firstwas made impossible. He had no justification for that. This other hadsent him to her--doubtless with a smile of scorn upon her pretty lips. 

But what was she crying about and making her nose all red? She shouldhave answered him with another smile and sent him back again. Then hewould have understood how little she cared--would have understood thatshe did not care enough even to feel the sting of such an insult asthis. For the two days she had been here awaiting the announcement ofhis marriage she had said over and over again that she did notcare--said it the first thing upon waking and the last thing uponretiring. Even when she woke up in the night, as she did many times, she said it to herself. It had been a great comfort to her, for it wasa full and complete answer to any wayward thoughts that took herunaware. 

She did not care about him, so what was she sniveling about and makingher nose all red? She dabbed her handkerchief into her eyes and soughther powder-box. If he had only kept away from her everything wouldhave been all right. Within the next ten or eleven days she would havereadjusted herself and been ready to take up her work again, withanother lesson learned. She would have gone back to her room wiser andwith still more confidence in herself. And now he was downstairs, waiting for her. There was no way she could escape him. She must doall those things without the help of seclusion. She must not care, with him right before her eyes. 

She began to cry again. It was not fair. It was the sense ofinjustice that now broke her down. She was doing her best, and no onewould help her. Even he made it as hard for her as possible. On top ofthat he had added this new insult. He wished a wife, and if he couldnot have this one he would take that one--as Farnsworth selected hisstenographers. He had come to her because she had allowed herself tolunch with him and dine with him and walk with him. He had presumedupon what she had allowed herself to say to him. Because she hadinterested herself in him and tried to help him, he thought she was tobe as lightly considered as this. He had not waited even a decentinterval, but had come to her direct from Frances--she of the scornfulsmile. 

Once again Sally stopped crying. If only she could hold that smilebefore her, all might yet be well. Whenever she looked into his eyesand thought them tender, she must remember that smile. Whenever hisvoice tempted her against her reason, she must remember that--forto-night, anyhow; and to-morrow he must go back. Either that or shewould leave. She could not endure this very long--certainly not foreleven days. 

"Sally--where are you?"

It was Mrs. Halliday's voice from downstairs. 

"I'm coming, " she answered. 

The supper was more of an epicurean than a social success. Mrs. Halliday had made hot biscuit, and opened a jar of strawberrypreserves, and sliced a cold chicken which she had originally intendedfor to-morrow's dinner; but, in spite of that, she was forced to sitby and watch her two guests do scarcely more than nibble. 

"I declare, I don't think young folks eat as much as they useter in mydays, " she commented. 

Don tried to excuse himself by referring to a late dinner at Portland;but Sally, as usual, had no excuse whatever. She was forced to endurein silence the searching inquiry of Mrs. Halliday's eyes as well asDon's. For the half-hour they were at table she heartily wished shewas back again in her own room in New York. There, at least, she wouldhave been free to shut herself up, away from all eyes but her own. Moreover, she had to look forward to what she should do at the end ofthe meal. For all she saw, she was going to be then in even a worseplight than she was now. For he would be able to talk, and she mustneeds answer and keep from crying. Above all things else, she mustkeep from crying. She did not wish him to think her a little fool aswell as other things. 

She was forced to confess that after the first five minutes Don didhis best to relieve the tension. He talked to Mrs. Halliday about onething and another, and kept on talking. And, though it was quiteevident to her that he had no appetite, he managed to consume three ofthe hot biscuit. After supper, when she rose to help her aunt in thekitchen, he wished also to help. But Mrs. Halliday would have neitherof them. That made it bad for her again, for it left her with noalternative but to sit again upon the front porch with him. So therethey were again, right back where they started. 

"What did you run into the house for?" he demanded. 

"Please let's not talk any more, of that, " she pleaded. 

"But it's the nub of the whole matter, " he insisted. 

"I went in because I did not want to talk any more. "

"Very well. Then you needn't talk. But you can listen, can't you?"

"That's the same thing. "

"It's exactly the opposite thing. You can listen, and just nod orshake your head. Then you won't have to speak a word. Will you dothat?"

It was an absurd proposition, but she was forced either to accept itor to run away again. Somehow, it did not appear especially dignifiedto keep on running away, when in the end she must needs come backagain. So she nodded. 

"Let's go back to the beginning, " he suggested. "That's somewheretoward the middle of my senior year. I'd known Frances before that, but about that time she came on to Boston, and we went to a whole lotof dances and things together. "

He paused a moment. 

"I wish I'd brought a picture of her with me, " he resumed thoughtfully, "because she's really a peach. "

Miss Winthrop looked up quickly. He was apparently serious. 

"She's tall and dark and slender, " he went on, "and when she's alltogged up she certainly looks like a queen. She had a lot of friendsin town, and we kept going about four nights a week. Then came theball games, and then Class Day. You ever been to Class Day?"

Miss Winthrop shook her head with a quick little jerk. 

"It's all music and Japanese lanterns, and if you're sure of yourdegree it's a sort of fairyland where nothing is quite real. You justfeel at the time that it's always going to be like that. It was then Iasked her to marry me. "

Miss Winthrop was sitting with her chin in her hands, looking intentlyat the brick path leading to the house. 

"You listening?"

She nodded jerkily. 

"It seemed all right then. And it seemed all right after that. Stuyvesant was agreeable enough, and so I came on to New York. Thenfollowed Dad's death. Dad was a queer sort, but he was square as adie. I'm sorry he went before he had a chance to meet you. I didn'trealize what good pals we were until afterward. But, anyway, he died, and he tied the property all up as I've told you. Maybe he thought ifhe didn't I'd blow it in, because I see now I'd been getting rid of agood many dollars. I went to Frances and told her all about it, andoffered to cancel the engagement. But she was a good sport and saidshe'd wait until I earned ten thousand a year. You listening?"

She nodded. 

"Because it's right here you come in. I was going to get it inside ayear, and you know just about how much chance I stood. But it lookedeasy to her, because her father was pulling down about that much amonth, and not killing himself either. I didn't know any more about itthan she did; but the difference between us was that as soon as I wason the inside I learned a lot she didn't learn. I learned how hard itis to get ten thousand a year; more than that, I learned howunnecessary it is to get it. That's what you taught me. "

"I--I didn't mean to, " she interrupted. 

"You're talking, " he reminded her. 

She closed her lips firmly together. 

"Whether you meant to or not isn't the point. You did teach me thatand a lot of other things. I didn't know it at the time, and wentplugging ahead, thinking everything was just the same when it wasn'tat all. Frances was headed one way and I was headed another. Then shewent abroad, and after that I learned faster than ever. I learned whata home can be made to mean, and work can be made to mean, and life canbe made to mean. All those things you were teaching me. I didn't knowit, and you didn't know it, and Frances didn't know it. That tenthousand grew less and less important to me, and all the while Ithought it must be growing less and less important to her. I thoughtthat way after the walks in the park and the walks in the country andthat night at Coney. "

She shuddered. 

"I thought it even after she came back--even after my talk withStuyvesant. He told me I was a fool and that Frances wouldn't listento me. I didn't believe him and put it up to her. And then--for thefirst time--I saw that what I had been learning she had not beenlearning. "

Don turned and looked at the girl by his side. It was growing darknow, so that he could not see her very well; but he saw that she washuddled up as he had found her that day in the little restaurant. 

"Frances didn't have the nerve to come with me, " he said. "Her fatherstood in the way, and she couldn't get by him. I want to be fair aboutthis. At the beginning, if she'd come with me I'd have marriedher--though Lord knows how it would have worked out. But she didn'tdare--and she's a pretty good sport, too. There's a lot in her shedoesn't know anything about. It would do her good to know you. "

Again he paused. It was as if he were trying hard to keep hisbalance. 

"I want her to know you, " he went on. "Because, after all, it was shewho made me see you. There, in a second, in the park, she pointed youout to me, until you stood before me as clear as the star by the BigDipper. She said, 'It's some other girl you're seeing in me--a girlwho would dare to go hungry with you. ' Then I knew. So I came right toyou. "

She was still huddled up. 

"And here I am, " he concluded. 

There he was. He did not need to remind her of that. Even when sheclosed her eyes so that she might not see him, she was aware of it. Even when he was through talking and she did not hear his voice, shewas aware of it. And, though she was miserable about it, she wouldhave been more miserable had he been anywhere else. 

"I'm here, little girl, " he said patiently. 

"Even after I told you to go away, " she choked. 

"Even after you told me to go away. "

"If you only hadn't come at all!"

"What else was there for me to do?"

"You--you could have gone to that camp with her. She wanted you togo. "

"I told her I couldn't go there--long before I knew why. "

"You could have gone--oh, there are so many other places you could go!And this is the only place I _could_ go. "

"It's the only place I could go, too. Honest, it was. I'd have beenmiserable anywhere else, and--well, you aren't making it verycomfortable for me here. "

It seemed natural to have him blame her for his discomfort when it wasall his own fault. It seemed so natural, in the midst of the confusionof all the rest of the tangle, that it was restful. 

"I'm sorry, " she said. 

"That's something, " he nodded. 

"I--I guess the only thing for me to do is to go away myself. "

"Where?"

"Back to New York. Oh, I wish I hadn't taken a vacation!"

"We'll go back if you say so; but it seems foolish after traveling allthis distance. "

"I meant to go back alone, " she hastened to correct him. 

"And leave me with Mrs. Halliday?"

"Please don't mix things all up!"

"It's you who are mixing things all up, " he said earnestly. "Thatisn't like you, little girl. It's more like you to straighten thingsout. There's a straight road ahead of us now, and if you'll only takeit we'll never leave it again. All we've got to do is to hunt up aparson and get married, and then we'll go anywhere you say, or not goanywhere at all. It's as simple as that. Then, when our vacation isup, I'll go back to Carter, Rand & Seagraves, and I'll tell Farnsworthhe'll have to get a new stenographer. Maybe he'll discharge me forthat, but if he doesn't I'll tell him I want to get out and sell. Andthen there's nothing more to it. With you to help--"

He tried to find her hands, but she had them pressed over her eyes. 

"With you back home to help, " he repeated--"there's not anything inthe world we won't get. "

And the dream woman in Sally answered to the woman on the steps:--

"There's not anything more in the world we'll want when we're home. "

But Don did not hear that. All he heard was a sigh. To the dream womanwhat he said sounded like music; but the woman on the steps answeredcynically:--

"All he is saying to you now he said to that other. There, where themusic was playing and the Japanese lanterns were bobbing, he said itto her. That was a fairy world, as this is a fairy night; but back inNew York it will all be different. There are no fairies in New York. Every time you have thought there were, you have been disappointed. "

She rose swiftly to her feet. 

"Oh, we mustn't talk about it!" she exclaimed. 

He too rose, and he placed both his hands upon her shoulders. 

"I don't understand, " he said quickly. "What is it you don'tbelieve?"

"I don't believe in fairies, " she answered bitterly. 

"Don't you believe that I love you?"

"To-night--perhaps, " she answered. 

Her eyes were not meeting his. 

"You don't believe my love will last?"

"I--I don't know. "

"Because of Frances?"

"Everything is so different in New York, " she answered. 

"Because of Frances?"

She was not sure enough herself to answer that. She did not wish to beunfair. He removed his hands from her shoulders and stood back alittle. 

"I thought you'd understand about her. I thought you were the onewoman in the world who'd understand. "

She looked up quickly. 

"Perhaps it's easier for men to understand those things than women, "she said. 

"There's so little to understand. "

As he spoke, truly it seemed so. But it was always that way when shewas with him. Always, if she was not very careful, he made her seeexactly as he saw. It was so at Jacques'; it was so at Coney. But herwhole life was at stake now. If she made a mistake, one way or theother, she must live it out--in New York. She must be by herself whenshe reached her decision. 

"In the morning, " she gasped. 

"All right, " he answered. 

He took her hand--catching her unawares. 

"See, " he said. "Up there is the star I gave you. It will always bethere--always be yours. And, if you can, I want you to think of me aslike that star. "

Upstairs in her room that night, Miss Winthrop sat by her window andtried to place herself back in New York--back in the office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves. It was there, after all, and not up among the stars, that she had gained her experience of men. 

From behind her typewriter she had watched them come and go, or ifthey stayed had watched them in the making. It was from behind hertypewriter she had met Don. She remembered every detail of that firstday: how he stood at the ticker like a boy with a new toy, waiting forFarnsworth; how he came from Farnsworth's office and took a seat nearher, and for the next half-hour watched her fingers until she becamenervous. At first she thought he was going to be "fresh. " Her mind wasmade up to squelch him at the first opportunity. Yet, when it hadcome lunch-time and he sat on, not knowing what to do, she had takenpity on him. She knew he would sit on there until night unless someone showed an interest in him. She was glad now that she had, becausehe had been hungry. Had it not been for her, he would not have hadanything to eat all day--possibly not all that week. She would nevercease being glad that she had discovered this fact in time. 

But she had intended that her interest should cease, once she had madesure that he was fed and in receipt of his first week's salary. Thatmuch she would do for any man, good, bad, or indifferent. That was allshe had intended. She could say that honestly. When he had appeared ather lunch-place the second and third time, she had resented it. Butshe had also welcomed his coming. And, when she had bidden him not tocome, she had missed him. 

Right here she marked a distinction between him and the others. Shemissed him outside the office--not only at noon, but at night. Whenshe had opened that absurd box of flowers, she brought him into herroom with her. She saw now that at the precise moment she opened thatbox she had lost her point of view. If she had wished to maintain it, she should have promptly done the box up again and sent it back tohim. 

After this their relation had changed. There could be no doubt aboutthat. However, except for the initial fault of not returning theroses, she could not see where it was distinctly her fault. She hadgone on day after day, unaware that any significant change was takingplace. There had been the dinner at Jacques', and then--

With her chin in her hands, she sat by the open window and lived overagain those days. Her eyes grew afire and her cheeks grew rosy and agreat happiness thrilled her. So--until they reached that night atConey and Frances smiled through the dark at her. 

Then she sprang to her feet and paced the floor, with the color gonefrom her cheeks. During all those glorious days this other girl hadbeen in the background of his thoughts. It was for her he had beenworking--of her he had been thinking. She clenched her hands andfaced the girl. 

"Why didn't you stay home with him, then?" she cried. "You left him tome and I took care of him. He'd have lost his position if it hadn'tbeen for me. 

"I kept after him until he made good, " she went on. "I saw that hecame to work on time, I showed him what to learn. It was I, not you, that made him. "

She was speaking out loud--fiercely. Suddenly she stopped. She raisedher eyes to the window--to the little star by the Big Dipper. Gently, as a mother speaks, she said again:--

"I made him--not you. "

Sally Winthrop sank into a chair. She began to cry--but softly now. 

"You're mine, Don, " she whispered. "You're mine because I took care ofyou. "

A keen breeze from the mountains swept in upon her. She rose and stoleacross the hall to Mrs. Halliday's room. That good woman awoke with astart. 

"What is it?" she exclaimed. 

"Oh, I'm sorry if I woke you, " answered the girl. "But it's turnedcold, and I wondered if Don--if Mr. Pendleton had enough bedclothes. "

"Laws sake, " answered Mrs. Halliday. "I gave him two extra comforters, and if that ain't enough he deserves to freeze. "

CHAPTER XXXI

SALLY DECIDES

The clarion call of Mrs. Halliday's big red rooster announcingfervently his discovery of a thin streak of silver light in the eastbrought Don to his elbow with a start. For a moment he could not placehimself, and then, as he realized where he was and what this day meantfor him, he took a long deep breath. 

"In the morning, " she had said. 

Technically it was now morning, though his watch informed him that itwas not yet five. By now, then, she had made her decision. Somewherein this old house, perhaps within sound of his voice, she was waitingwith the verdict that was to decide whether he was going back to NewYork the happiest or the unhappiest man in all Christendom. No, thatwas not quite right either. Even if she said "No" that would notdecide it. It would mean only another day of waiting, because he wasgoing to keep right on trying to make her understand--day after day, all summer and next winter and the next summer if necessary. He wasgoing to do that because, if he ever let go of this hope, then hewould be letting go of everything. 

He found it quite impossible to sleep again and equally impossible tolie there awake. Jumping from bed he dressed, shaved, and wentdownstairs, giving Mrs. Halliday the start of her life when he cameupon her as she was kindling the kitchen fire. 

"Land sakes alive, " she gasped, "I didn't expect to see you for acouple hours. "

"I know it's early, " he answered uncomfortably; "I don't suppose Sallyis up?"

Mrs. Halliday touched a match to the kindling and put the stove coversback in place. 

"There isn't anything lazy about Sally, but she generally does waituntil the sun is up, " she returned. 

She filled the teakettle and then, adjusting her glasses, took a morecritical look at Don. 

"Wasn't ye warm enough last night?" she demanded. 

"Plenty, thank you, " he answered. 

"Perhaps bein' in new surroundings bothered you, " she suggested; "Ican't ever sleep myself till I git used to a place. "

"I slept like a log, " he assured her. 

"Is this the time ye ginerally git up in New York?"

"Not quite as early as this, " he admitted. "But, you see, thatrooster--"

"I see, " she nodded. "And ye kind of hoped it might wake up Sallytoo?"

"I took a chance, " he smiled. 

"Well, now, as long as ye seem so anxious I'll tell ye something;maybe it did. Anyhow, I heard her movin' round afore I came down. Drawa chair up to the stove and make yourself comfortable. "

"Thanks. "

The dry heat from the burning wood was already warming the room. Outside he heard the morning songs of the birds. It no longer seemedearly to him. It was as though the world were fully awake, justbecause he knew now that Sally was awake. For a few minutes Mrs. Halliday continued her tasks as though unmindful that he was about. Itwas such a sort of friendly acceptance of him as part of thehousehold that he began to feel as much at home here as though it werehis usual custom to appear at this hour. There was something morefriendly about even Mrs. Halliday's back than about the faces of agreat many people he knew. It looked as though it had borne a greatmany burdens, but having borne them sturdily was ready for more. Itinvited confidences. Then the teakettle began to bubble and sing andthat invited confidences too. He was choking with things he wished tosay--preferably to Sally herself, but if that were not possible, thenMrs. Halliday was certainly the next best confidante. Besides, beingthe closest relative of Sally's it was only fitting and proper thatshe should be told certain facts. Sooner or later she must know andnow seemed a particularly opportune time. Don rose and moved his chairto attract her attention. 

"Mrs. Halliday--" he began. 

"Wal?" she replied, without turning. She was at that moment busy overthe biscuit board. 

"There's something I think I ought to tell you. "

She turned instantly at that--turned, adjusted her spectacles, andwaited. 

"I--I've asked Sally to marry me, " he confessed. 

For a moment her thin, wrinkled face remained immobile. Then he saw asmile brighten the shrewd gray eyes. 

"You don't say!" she answered. "I've been wonderin' just how long ye'dbe tellin' me that. "

"You knew? Sally told you?" he exclaimed. 

"Not in so many words, as ye might say, " she answered. "But laws sake, when a girl wakes me up to say she doesn't think a young man hasblankets enough on his bed in this kind of weather--"

"She did that?" interrupted Don. 

"Thet's jest what she did. But long afore thet you told me yourself. "

"I?"

"Of course. It's jest oozin' out all over you. "

She came nearer. For a second Don felt as though those gray eyes wereboring into his soul. 

"Look here, young man, " she said. "What did Sally say?"

"She said she'd let me know this morning, " he answered. 

"And you've been blamin' my old rooster for gettin' you up?"

"Not blaming him exactly, " he apologized. 

"And you aren't sure whether she's goin' to say yes or goin' to sayno?"

Don's lips tightened. 

"I'm not sure whether she's going to say yes or no this morning. But, believe me, Mrs. Halliday, before she dies she's going to say yes. "

Mrs. Halliday nodded approvingly. She went further; she placed a thinhand on Don's shoulder. It was like a benediction. His heart warmed asthough it had been his mother's hand there. 

"Don, " she said, as naturally as though she had been saying it all herlife, "I don't know much about you in one way. But I like your faceand I like your eyes. I go a lot by a man's eyes. More'n that, I knowSally, and there was never a finer, honester girl made than she is. If she has let you go as far as this, I don't think I'd worry myselfto death. "

"That's the trouble, " he answered. "She didn't let me go as far asthis. I--I just went. "

Mrs. Halliday smiled again. 

"Mebbe you think so, " she admitted. 

"You see--" he stammered. 

But at that moment he heard a rustle of skirts behind him. There stoodSally herself--her cheeks very red, with a bit of a frown above hereyes. It was Mrs. Halliday who saved the day. 

"Here, now, you two, " she stormed as she went back to her biscuitboard. "Both of you clear out of here until breakfast is ready. Youbelong outdoors where the birds are singing. "

"I'll set the table, Aunty, " replied Sally grimly. 

"You'll do nothing of the kind, " replied Mrs. Halliday. 

She crossed the room and, taking Sally by one arm she took Don by theother. She led them to the door. 

"Out with you, " she commanded. 

Alone with her Don turned to seek Sally's eyes and saw the frown stillthere. 

"I--I told her, " he admitted; "I couldn't help it. I've been up for anhour and I had to talk to some one. "

He took her arm. 

"You've decided?" he asked. 

His face was so tense, his voice so eager, that it was as much as shecould do to remain vexed. Still, she resented the fact that he hadspoken to her aunt without authority. It was a presumption that seemedto take for granted her answer. It was as though he thought only oneanswer possible. 

"Heart of me, " he burst out, "you've decided?"

"You--you had no right to tell her, " she answered. 

"Come down the road a bit, " he pleaded. 

He led her down the path and along the country road between fields wetwith dew. The air was clean and sweet and the sky overhead a spotlessblue. It was the freshest and cleanest world he had ever seen and shewas one with it. 

"I only told her what she already knew, " he said. 

"She knew?"

He spoke in a lower voice--a voice gentle and trembling. 

"She said you came in last night after she had gone asleep--"

Sally covered her face with her hands. 

"Oh, " she gasped, "she--she told you that?"

He reached up and gently removed her hands. He held them tight in bothof his. 

"It was good of you to think of me like that. It was like you, " hesaid. 

All the while he was drawing her nearer and nearer to him. Sheresisted. At least she thought she was resisting, but it didn't seemto make any difference. Nearer his eyes came to hers; nearer his lipscame to hers. She gave a quick gasp as one before sudden danger. Thenshe felt his warm lips against hers and swayed slightly. But his armswere about her. They were strong about her, so that, while she felt asthough hanging dizzily over a precipice, she at the same moment neverfelt safer in her life. With his lips against her lips, she closedher eyes until, to keep from losing herself completely, she brokefree. Her cheeks scarlet, her breath coming short, her eyes likestars, she stared at him a moment, and then like a startled fawnturned and ran for the house. He followed, but her feet were tippedwith wings. He did not catch her until she had burst into the kitchen, where in some fear Mrs. Halliday gathered her into her arms. 

"She hasn't answered me even yet, " he explained to Mrs. Halliday. 

"Oh, Don, " cried the trembling girl, her voice smothered in Mrs. Halliday's shoulder. "You dare say that after--"

"Well, after what?" demanded Mrs. Halliday. 

CHAPTER XXXII

BARTON APPEARS

The details of the wedding Mrs. Halliday decided to take over into herown hands. 

"You two can just leave that to me, " she informed them. 

"But look here, " protested Don, "I don't see why we need bother with alot of fuss and--"

"What business is this of yours?" Mrs. Halliday challenged him. 

"Only we haven't much time, " he warned. 

"There's going to be time enough for Sally to be married properly, "she decided. 

That was all there was to it. It seems that tucked away up in theattic there was an old trunk and tucked away in that a wedding dressof white silk which had been worn by Sally's mother. 

"It's been kept ag'in' this very day, " explained Mrs. Halliday, "though I will say that I was beginnin' to git discouraged. "

The dress was brought out, and no more auspicious omen could have beenfurnished Mrs. Halliday than the fact that, except in severalunimportant details, Sally could have put it on and worn it, just asit was. Not only did it fit, but the intervening years had broughtback into style again the very mode in which it had been designed, sothat, had she gone to a Fifth Avenue dressmaker, she could have foundnothing more in fashion. Thus it was possible to set the wedding datejust four days off, for Saturday. That was not one moment more of timethan Mrs. Halliday needed in which to put the house in order--evenwith the hearty coöperation of Don, who insisted upon doing his part, which included the washing of all the upper windows. 

Those were wonderful days for him. For one thing he discovered thatnot only had there been given into his keeping the clear-seeing, steady-nerved, level-headed woman who had filled so large a share ofhis life this last year, but also another, who at first startled himlike some wood nymph leaping into his path. She was so young, sovibrant with life, so quick with her smiles and laughter--this other. It was the girl in her, long suppressed, because in the life she hadbeen leading in town there had been no playground. Her whole attentionthere had been given to the subjection of the wild impulses in whichshe now indulged. She laughed, she ran, she reveled in being just hercare-free, girlish self. Don watched her with a new thrill. He felt asthough she were taking him back to her early youth--as though she werefilling up for him all those years of her he had missed. 

At night, about the usual time he was dining in town, Mrs. Hallidayinsisted that Sally should go to bed, as she herself did, which, ofcourse, left Don no alternative but to go himself. There was nopossible object in his remaining up after Sally was out of sight. Butthe early morning belonged to her and to him. At dawn he rose and whenhe came downstairs, he found her waiting for him. Though Mrs. Hallidayprotested that Sally was losing her beauty sleep she was not able toproduce any evidence to prove it. If any one could look any fresher ormore wonderful than Sally, as she stepped out of the house by hisside into the light of the newborn day, then there was no sense in it, because, as she was then, she filled his eyes and his heart tooverflowing. She wore no hat, but except for this detail he was neverconscious of how she was dressed. There was always too much to occupyhim in her brown eyes, in her mouth, which, while losing nothing ofits firmness, had acquired a new gentleness. He had always thought ofher lips as cold, but he knew them better now. At the bend in the roadwhere he had kissed her first, he kissed her again every morning. Shealways protested. That was instinctive. But in the end she submitted, because it always seemed so many hours since she had seen him last, and because she made him understand that not until the next day couldhe expect this privilege. 

"What's the use of being engaged if I can't kiss you as often as Iwish?" he demanded once. 

"We're engaged in order to be married, " she explained. 

"And after we are married--"

"You wait and see, " she answered, her cheeks as red as any schoolgirl's. 

"But that's three days off, " he complained. 

Even to her, happy as she was, confident as she was, the intervalto Saturday sometimes seemed like a very long space of time. Forone thing, she felt herself at night in the grip of a kind offoreboding absolutely foreign to her. Perhaps it was a naturalreaction from the high tension of the day, but at night she sometimesfound herself starting to her elbow in an agony of fear. Before theday came, something would happen to Don, because such happiness asthis was not meant for her. She fell a victim to all manner ofwild fears and extravagant fancies. On the second night there was aheavy thunderstorm. She did not mind such things ordinarily. Themajesty of the darting light and the rolling crash of the thunderalways thrilled her. But this evening the sky was blotted oututterly and quick light shot from every point of the compass atonce. As peal followed peal, the house shook. Even then it was not ofherself she thought. She had no fear except for Don. This might bethe explanation of her foreboding. It happened, too, that his roomwas beneath the big chimney where if the house were hit the boltwould be most apt to strike. Dressing hastily in her wrapper andbedroom slippers, she stole into the hall. A particularly viciousflash illuminated the house for a second and then plunged it intodarkness. She crept to Don's very door. There she crouched, resolved that the same bolt should kill them both. There she remained, scarcely daring to breathe until the shower passed. 

It was a silly thing to do. When she came back to her own room, hercheeks were burning with shame. The next morning she was miserable infear lest he discover her weakness. He did not, though he marveled ata new tenderness in her that had been born in the night. 

The fourth day broke fair and Don found himself busy until noonhelping with the decorations of green and of wild flowers; for thoughonly a dozen or so neighbors had been asked, Mrs. Halliday wasthorough in whatever she undertook. Had she been expecting a hundredshe could have done no more in the way of preparation except perhapsto increase the quantity of cake and ices. 

Don himself had asked no one except old Barton, of Barton &Saltonstall, and him he did not expect, although he had received noreply to his invitation. What, then, was his surprise when toward themiddle of the forenoon, as he was going into the house with an armfulof pine boughs, he heard a voice behind him, --

"How do, Don?"

Turning, he saw Barton in a frock coat and a tall hat that he mighthave worn last at Pendleton, Senior's, wedding. 

"For Heaven's sake!" exclaimed Don, dropping his pine boughs on thedoorstep and rushing to meet him. "I call this mighty good of you. "

"I could hardly do less for Pendleton's boy, " answered Barton. 

"Well, sir, you're mighty welcome. Come right in. Oh, Sally, " hecalled. 

Sally came on the run, not knowing what had happened. She wore acalico apron and had not found time to do her hair since morning. Itwas not exactly the costume she would have chosen in which first tomeet Mr. Barton. Her cheeks showed it. 

"Sally, " said Don, "this is Mr. Barton--my father's lawyer. Mr. Barton, this is Miss Winthrop. "

Barton bowed low with old-fashioned courtesy. Then he allowed his keengray eyes to rest a moment upon hers. 

"I am very glad to meet you, " he said. 

"Will you come in?" she asked. "I'm afraid the house is very much indisorder just now, but I want you to meet my aunt. "

Mrs. Halliday was scarcely more presentable than Miss Winthrop, butthe latter found a certain relief in that fact. 

"I'm glad to know you, " Mrs. Halliday greeted him cordially. 

But what to do with him at just this time was a problem which wouldhave baffled her had he not solved it for himself. 

"Please don't let me interrupt the preparations, " he begged. "I shouldnot have ventured here--at just this time--except that I wanted to seeDon about a few legal matters. "

"Mr. Barton, " explained Don to Sally, "is the man who had the pleasantduty thrust upon him of telling me that I was cut off without acent. "

"It was an unpleasant duty, " nodded Barton, "but I hope it may be mygood fortune to make up for that. "

"I'm afraid the only place you can sit is on the front doorstep, "laughed Sally. 

"As good a place as any, " answered Don, leading the way. 

"Well, " asked Don good-naturedly as soon as they were seated there, "what's the trouble now? I tell you right off it's got to be somethingmighty serious to jar me any at just this time. "

"There was still another codicil to your father's will, " explainedBarton at once--"a codicil I have not been at liberty to read to youuntil now. It had, in fact, no point except in the contingency of yourmarriage. "

"I hope you aren't going to take the house away from me, " scowledDon. 

"No, " answered Barton slowly. "It has to do rather with an additionalprovision. The substance of it is that in case you married anyone--er--meeting with my approval, you were to be given an allowanceof two thousand a year. "

"Eh?"

"Two thousand a year. After that, one thousand a year additional foreach child born of that marriage until the total allowance amounts tofive thousand dollars. At that point the principal itself is to beturned over to you. "

"Oh, Sally!" called Don. 

She came running again. It was still four hours before they would besafely married and many things might happen in four hours. 

"Sit down here and listen to this, " he commanded. "Now, do you mindsaying that all over again?"

Barton repeated his statement. 

"What do you think of that?" inquired Don. "It's just as though I hadmy salary raised two thousand a year. Not only that--but the rest isup to you. "

"Don!"

"Well, it is. "

"And besides, " she gasped, "Mr. Barton has not yet said he approves. "

Mr. Barton arose. 

"May I say that at once?" he smiled. "I do not think I have alwaysgiven Don as much credit for his good judgment as I feel he shouldhave been given. "

"Good old Barton!" choked Don. 

"There's one thing more, " said Barton--"a--a little present formyself. "

He handed Don an envelope. 

"Thank you, sir, " said Don, thrusting it unopened in his pocket. "Andnow it seems to me the least the bride can do is to let you kissher. "

"I'm not a bride yet, " answered Sally demurely, "but--"

She came to Barton's side and he kissed her on the cheek. 

"It's too bad that Pendleton couldn't have lived to know his son'swife, " he said. 

A little later Don gave Sally the envelope to open. It contained acheck for five hundred dollars. 

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Don, "we're rolling in wealth. I guess whenwe get back to town we'll have to buy a car. "

"When we get back to town we'll open a bank account, " correctedSally. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

A BULLY WORLD

As Sally came down the stairs at a quarter of three in her white silkwedding gown the wonder was how, after a morning of such honest hardwork as she had put in, it was possible for her to look so fresh. Manya town bride, after spending the entire morning resting in preparationfor such an event, has at the last moment failed to turn up with suchapple-red cheeks or brilliant eyes. There was a gently seriousexpression about her mouth, to be sure, but that was not due tofatigue. In spite of her light-heartedness during the last few daysshe had been all the while keenly conscious that she was accepting agreat responsibility. She was about to marry not only a lover, but aman whose future was to be in her keeping. Among other things he wasto be a future partner in the firm of Carter, Rand & Seagraves, andthat meant several years of very hard work ahead of them. Then therewere the secret responsibilities--the unborn responsibilities. Thesewere not very definite, to be sure, but she felt them, timidly, gravely, in queer little tuggings at her heart. 

When finally she stood in front of the clergyman with Don by her side, she felt, not that she was in a bower of wild flowers, but before analtar. The ritual for her had a deeply religious significance. Shemade her responses in a steady voice heard by every one in the room. When she made the promise "to love, cherish, and obey, " she spoke itas though she meant it. It did not disturb her in the slightest toutter the word "obey, " because she knew well that whatever commandscame to her from Don would be of her own inspiring. To her thispromise was no more than an agreement to obey her own best impulses. 

The service seemed almost too brief for so solemn an undertaking, butwhen it was over, she reached for Don's hand and took it in a heartygrip that was more of a pledge than the ring itself. It sent a tingleto his heart and made his lips come together--the effect, a hundredtimes magnified, of the coach's slap upon the back that used tothrill him just before he trotted on the field before a big game. Hefelt that the harder the obstacles to be overcome for her dear sake, the better. He would like to have had a few at that moment as a reliefto his pent-up emotions. 

He remembered in a sort of impatient daze the congratulations thatfollowed--with the faces of Mrs. Halliday and Barton standing out atrifle more prominently--and then the luncheon. It seemed another weekbefore she went upstairs to change into her traveling-dress; anotherweek before she reappeared. Then came good-byes and the shower ofrice, with an old shoe or so mixed in. He had sent her trunk the daybefore to the mountain hotel where they were to be for a week, butthey walked to the station, he carrying her suitcase. Then he foundhimself on the train, and in another two hours they were at the hotel. It was like an impossible dream come true when finally they stood forthe first time alone--she as his wife. He held out his arms to her andshe came this time without protest. 

"Heart of mine, " he whispered as he kissed her lips again andagain, --"heart of mine, this is a bully old world. "

"You've made it that, Don. "

"I? I haven't had anything to do about it except to get you. "

CHAPTER XXXIV

DON MAKES GOOD

They had not one honeymoon, but two or three. When they left the hoteland came back to town, it was another honeymoon to enter together thehouse in which she had played so important a part without ever havingseen it. When they stepped out of the cab she insisted upon firstseeing it from the outside, instead of rushing up the steps as he wasfor doing. 

"Don, " she protested, "I--I don't want to have such a pleasure overwith all at once. I want to get it bit by bit. "

There was not much to see, to be sure, but a door and a few windows--asection similar to sections to the right and left of which it was apart. But it was a whole house, a house with lower stories and upperstories and a roof--all his, all hers. To her there was somethingstill unreal about it. 

He humored her delay, though Nora was standing impatiently at thedoor, anxious to see the Pendleton bride. But when she finally didenter, Nora, at the smile she received, had whatever fears might havebeen hers instantly allayed. 

"Gawd bless ye, " she beamed. 

Sally refused to remove her wraps until she had made her inspectionroom by room, sitting down in each until she had grasped every detail. So they went from the first floor to the top floor and came back tothe room which he had set apart for their room. 

"Does it suit you, wife of mine?" he asked. 

With the joy of it all, her eyes filled. 

"It's even more beautiful than I thought it would be, " she trembled. 

For him the house had changed the moment she stepped into it. Withhis father alive, it had been his father's home rather than his;with his father gone, it had been scarcely more than a convenientresting-place. There had been moments--when he thought of Franceshere--that it had taken on more significance, but even this hadbeen due to Sally. When he thought he was making the house readyfor another, it had been her dear hand who had guided him. Howvividly now he recalled that dinner at the little French restaurantwhen he had described his home to her--the home which was now herhome too. It was at that moment she had first made her personalityfelt here. 

Sally removed her hat and tidied her hair before the mirror in quiteas matter-of-fact a fashion as though she had been living here eversince that day instead of only the matter of a few minutes. When shecame downstairs, Nora herself seemed to accept her on that basis. Toher suggestions, she replied, "Yes, Mrs. Pendleton, " as glibly asthough she had been saying it all her life. 

They returned on a Saturday. On Monday Don was to go back to theoffice. Sally had sent in her resignation the day of her marriage andhad received nice letters from both Carter and Farnsworth, with acheck enclosed from the former for fifty dollars and from the latterfor twenty-five dollars. 

"What I'll have to do, " said Don, as he retired Sunday night, "is toget a larger alarm-clock. It won't do to be late any more. "

"You're right, " agreed Sally. "But you won't need an alarm-clock. "

"Eh?"

"You wait and see. "

Sally was awake at six the next morning and Don himself less than oneminute after. 

"Time to get up, " she called. 

"I'm sleepy, " murmured Don. 

"Then to-morrow night you'll get to bed one hour earlier. But--up withyou. "

"Right-o, " he answered as he sprang from bed. "But there's no need ofyour getting up. "

"I'd be ashamed of myself if I didn't. "

She had breakfast with him that first work morning as she planned todo every morning of her life after that. 

"Now, Don, " she warned as he was ready to leave, "mind you don't sayanything about a raise in salary for a little while yet. I knowFarnsworth, and he'll give it to you the moment he feels you've madegood. Besides, we can afford to wait and--I don't know as I want youto have any more money than you have now. It's ridiculous for you tohave that two thousand from your father. "

"I guess we can use it, little woman, " he laughed. 

"We can save it, " she insisted. "And, of course, it's pretty nice tohave an emergency fund, only it sort of takes half the fun out of lifeto be so safe. "

"It takes half the worry with it, too, " he reminded her. 

She thought a moment. Then she kissed him. 

"Maybe it's good for people to worry a bit, " she answered. 

"You've already done your share, " he returned. "You're going to meetme for lunch at twelve?"

"Yes, Don. "

"Sure?"

"Of course, it's sure. "

"I wish it were twelve now. "

"You're not to think of me again until twelve comes--not once. You'reto tend to business. "

"I know, but--"

She kissed him again. 

"Along with you. "

She took his arm and led him to the door and there--where, for all hecared, the whole street might have seen him--he turned quickly andkissed her once more. 

Don was decidedly self-conscious when he stepped briskly into theoffice of Carter, Rand & Seagraves, with a brave attempt to give theimpression that nothing whatever out of the ordinary had happened tohim during his brief vacation. But Blake, as he expressed it to herlater, was there with bells on. He spied him the moment he camethrough the door and greeted him with a whistled bar from the "WeddingMarch. " Not content with that, he tore several sheets of officestationery into small bits and sprinkled him with it. He seemed totake it as more or less of a joke. 

"You certainly put one over on us, " exclaimed Blake. 

"Well, let it go at that, " Don frowned. 

He was willing to take the horse-play, but there was something in thespirit with which it was done that he did not like. 

"Always heard bridegrooms were a bit touchy, " returned Blake. 

Don stepped nearer. 

"Touchy isn't the word, Blake, " he said; "proud comes nearer it. Remember that I'm proud as the devil of the girl you used to see here. Just base your future attitude toward her and me on that. "

A few minutes later Farnsworth restored his good humor. As he cameinto the private office, Farnsworth rose and extended his hand. 

"I want to congratulate you, Pendleton, " he said sincerely. 

"Thank you, " answered Don. 

"We feel almost as though we had lost a partner in the firm, " hesmiled. "But I'm mighty glad for both of you. She was fitted forsomething a whole lot bigger than Wall Street. "

"She taught me all I know about the game, " confessed Don. 

"You couldn't have had a better teacher. Sit down. I want to talk overa change I have in mind. "

Don felt his heart leap to his throat. 

"I've wanted for some time another man to go out and sell, " saidFarnsworth. "Do you think you can handle it?"

"You bet, " exclaimed Don. 

Farnsworth smiled. 

"You see, " ran on Don in explanation, "I've been selling bonds toSally--er--Mrs. Pendleton, for a month or more now. "

"Selling her?"

"Imaginary bonds, you know. "

Farnsworth threw back his head and laughed. 

"Good! Good! But the true test will come when you try to sell her areal one. I'll bet it will have to be gilt-edged. "

"And cheap, " nodded Don. 

"Well, " said Farnsworth, "I want to try you on the selling staff for awhile, anyway. Now, about salary--"

"Sally told me to forget that, " said Don. 

"I guess because she knew me well enough to know I wouldn't forget it. My intention is to pay men in this office what they are worth. Justwhat you may be worth in your new position I don't know, but I'm goingto advance you five hundred; and if you make good you'll be paid inproportion as you make good. That satisfactory?"

"Absolutely. "

"Then we're off, " concluded Farnsworth. 

Don met Sally at noon at the dairy lunch where they had gone sooften. 

"Come on, little woman, " he greeted her. "This place may be all rightfor the wife of a clerk, but now you're the wife of a bond salesman. "

"Don!"

"On a five-hundred-dollar raise. "

"We'll stay right here, " she said; "but I'm going to celebrate byhaving two chocolate éclairs. "

CHAPTER XXXV

"HOME, JOHN"

In December of the following year Frances came into her mother's roomone afternoon, drawing on her gloves. 

"Your new gown is very pretty, " her mother said. "Where are youcalling?"

"I have bridge at the Warrens' at four, " she answered. "But I thoughtI might have time before that to drop in at Don's. He has telephonedme half a dozen times to call and see his baby, and I suppose he'llkeep on until I go. "

"You really ought to go. "

Frances became petulant. "Oh, I know it, but--after all, a baby_isn't_ interesting. "

"They say it's a pretty baby. It's a boy, isn't it?"

"I don't know. Why don't you come along with me?"

"I'm not dressed, dear, but please to extend my congratulations. "

"Yes, mother. "

As John started to close the door of the limousine, Frances glanced ather watch. 

"I wish to call at Mr. Pendleton's, but I must be at the Warrens' atfour promptly. How much time must I allow?"

"A half hour, Miss. "

"Very well, John. "

Nora took her card, and came back with the request that she followupstairs. "The baby's just waked up, " Nora said. 

Frances was disappointed. If she had to see a baby, she preferred, onthe whole, seeing it asleep. 

Mrs. Pendleton came to the nursery door with the baby in her arms--orrather a bundle presumably containing a baby. 

"It's good of you to come, " she smiled. "I think he must have waked upjust to see you. "

She spoke unaffectedly and with no trace of embarrassment, althoughwhen Nora presented the card she had for a second become confused. Shehad hoped that Don would be at home when this moment came. 

"You're sure it's convenient for me to stay?" questioned Francesuneasily. 

"Quite, " answered Mrs. Pendleton. "I--I want you to see him when he'sgood-natured. "

She crossed the room to the window, and removed a layer of swaddlingclothes very gently. And there, revealed, lay Don, Jr. His face wasstill rather red, and his nose pudgy; but when he opened his eyesFrances saw Don's eyes. It gave her a start. 

"He has his father's eyes, " said the mother. 

"There's no doubt of that, " exclaimed Frances. 

"And his nose--well, he hasn't much of any nose yet, " she smiled. 

"He seems very small--all over. "

"He weighed ten pounds this morning, " said the mother. 

Don, Jr. , was waving his arms about, rather feebly, but withdetermination. 

"He is very strong, " the mother informed her. "Don declares that hehas all the earmarks of a football player. "

It seemed odd to hear this other speak so familiarly of Don. Francesglanced up quickly--and met Mrs. Pendleton's eyes. It was as if thetwo challenged each other. But Frances was the first to turn away. 

"Would you like to hold him a minute?" asked Mrs. Pendleton. 

Frances felt her breath coming fast. 

"I'm afraid I'd be clumsy. "

"Hold out your arms and I'll put him in them. "

Frances held out her arms, and Mrs. Pendleton gently laid the babyacross them. 

"Now hold him up to you, " she said. 

Frances obeyed. The sweet, subtle aroma of his hair reached her. Thesubtle warmth of his body met hers. As the mystic eyes opened belowher eyes, a crooning lullaby hidden somewhere within her found its wayto her throat and there stuck. She grew dizzy and her throat ached. Don, Jr. , moved uneasily. 

"He wants to come back now, " said the mother as she took him. 

"Good-bye, " whispered Frances. "I may come again?"

"Come often, " smiled Mrs. Pendleton. 

Frances tiptoed from the room, and tiptoed all the way downstairs andthrough the hall. 

As she stepped into the limousine, she said to John: "Home, please. "

"But you said you must be at the Warrens' at four, " John respectfullyreminded her. 

She sank back wearily in the seat. 

"Home, John, please, " she repeated. 

THE END

ZANE GREY'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list

THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS

A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of frontierwarfare. Her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is captured bybandits. A surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close. 

THE RAINBOW TRAIL

The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great westernuplands--until at last love and faith awake. 

DESERT GOLD

The story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends withthe finding of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl whois the story's heroine. 

RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE

A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormonauthority ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of thestory. 

THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN

This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, known as the preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desertand of a hunt in "that wonderful country of deep canons and giantpines. "

THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT

A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a youngNew Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shallbecome the second wife of one of the Mormons--Well, that's the problem ofthis great story. 

THE SHORT STOP

The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame andfortune as a professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start arefollowed by such success as clean sportsmanship, courage and honesty oughtto win. 

BETTY ZANE

This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful youngsister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. 

THE LONE STAR RANGER

After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw alongthe Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds ayoung girl held prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings downupon himself the wrath of her captors and henceforth is hunted on one sideby honest men, on the other by outlaws. 

THE BORDER LEGION

Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless Westernmining camp, to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she loved him--shefollowed him out. On her way, she is captured by a bandit band, andtrouble begins when she shoots Kells, the leader--and nurses him to healthagain. Here enters another romance--when Joan, disguised as an outlaw, observes Jim, in the throes of dissipation. A gold strike, a thrillingrobbery--gambling and gun play carry you along breathlessly. 

THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS, By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey

The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill, " as told by hissister and Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and his firstencounter with an Indian. We see "Bill" as a pony express rider, then nearFort Sumter as Chief of the Scouts, and later engaged in the mostdangerous Indian campaigns. There is also a very interesting account ofthe travels of "The Wild West" Show. No character in public life makes astronger appeal to the imagination of America than "Buffalo Bill" whosedaring and bravery made him famous. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York

KATHLEEN NORRIS' STORIES

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. 

This book has a fairy-story touch, counterbalanced by the sturdy realityof struggle, sacrifice, and resulting peace and power of a mother'sexperiences. 

SATURDAY'S CHILD. 

Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes. 

Out on the Pacific coast a normal girl, obscure and lovely, makes a questfor happiness. She passes through three stages--poverty, wealth andservice--and works out a creditable salvation. 

THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE. 

Illustrated by Lucius H. Hitchcock. 

The story of a sensible woman who keeps within her means, refuses to beswamped by social engagements, lives a normal human life of variedinterests, and has her own romance. 

THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. 

Frontispiece by Allan Gilbert. 

How Julia Page, reared in rather unpromising surroundings, lifted herselfthrough sheer determination to a higher plane of life. 

THE HEART OF RACHAEL. 

Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. 

Rachael is called upon to solve many problems, and in working out these, there is shown the beauty and strength of soul of one of fiction's mostappealing characters. 

Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York

THE NOVELS OF MARY ROBERTS RINEHART

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

"K. " Illustrated. 

K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that has known him, andgoes to live in a little town where beautiful Sidney Page lives. She is intraining to become a nurse. The joys and troubles of their young love aretold with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which has made the authorfamous. 

THE MAN IN LOWER TEN. 

Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. 

An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of the "Manin Lower Ten. " The strongest elements of Mrs. Rinehart's success are foundin this book. 

WHEN A MAN MARRIES. 

Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker. 

A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that his auntis soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the family income andwho has never seen the wife, knows nothing of the domestic upheaval. Howthe young man met the situation is humorously and most entertaininglytold. 

THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. Illus. By Lester Ralph. 

The summer occupants of "Sunnyside" find the dead body of ArnoldArmstrong, the son of the owner, on the circular staircase. Following themurder a bank failure is announced. Around these two events is woven aplot of absorbing interest. 

THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS. 

Illustrated (Photo Play Edition. )

Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, suddenlyrealizes that her money is almost gone. She meets a young ambitious doctorwho offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together with world-worn Dr. Anna and Jimmie, the waif, they share their love and slender means. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New YorkSTORIES OF RARE CHARM BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

MICHAEL O'HALLORAN, Illustrated by Frances Rogers. 

Michael is a quick-witted little Irish newsboy, living in NorthernIndiana. He adopts a deserted little girl, a cripple. He also assumes theresponsibility of leading the entire rural community upward and onward. 

LADDIE. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer. 

This is a bright, cheery tale with the scenes laid in Indiana. The storyis told by Little Sister, the youngest member of a large family, but it isconcerned not so much with childish doings as with the love affairs ofolder members of the family. Chief among them is that of Laddie and thePrincess, an English girl who has come to live in the neighborhood andabout whose family there hangs a mystery. 

THE HARVESTER. Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs. 

"The Harvester, " is a man of the woods and fields, and if the book hadnothing in it but the splendid figure of this man it would be notable. Butwhen the Girl comes to his "Medicine Woods, " there begins a romance of therarest idyllic quality. 

FRECKLES. Illustrated. 

Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which hetakes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the greatLimberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs tothe charm of his engaging personality; and his love story with "The Angel"are full of real sentiment. 

A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST. Illustrated. 

The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, loveable type of theself-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness towardsall things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and unpromisingsurroundings those rewards of high courage. 

AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. Illustrations in colors. 

The scene of this charming love story is laid in Central Indiana. Thestory is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing love. Thenovel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and itspathos and tender sentiment will endear it to all. 

THE SONG OF THE CARDINAL. Profusely illustrated. 

A love ideal of the Cardinal bird and his mate, told with delicacy andhumor. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York

MYRTLE REED'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. 

LAVENDER AND OLD LACE. 

A charming story of a quaint corner of New England, where bygone romancefinds a modern parallel. The story centers round the coming of love to theyoung people on the staff of a newspaper--and it is one of the prettiest, sweetest and quaintest of old-fashioned love stories. 

MASTER OF THE VINEYARD. 

A pathetic love story of a young girl, Rosemary. The teacher of thecountry school, who is also master of the vineyard, comes to know herthrough her desire for books. She is happy in his love till another womancomes into his life. But happiness and emancipation from her many trialscome to Rosemary at last. The book has a touch of humor and pathos thatwill appeal to every reader. 

OLD ROSE AND SILVER. 

A love story, --sentimental and humorous, --with the plot subordinate to thecharacter delineation of its quaint people and to the exquisitedescriptions of picturesque spots and of lovely, old, rare treasures. 

A WEAVER OF DREAMS. 

This story tells of the love affairs of three young people, with anold-fashioned romance in the background. A tiny dog plays an importantrole in serving as a foil for the heroine's talking ingeniousness. Thereis poetry, as well as tenderness and charm, in this tale of a weaver ofdreams. 

A SPINNER IN THE SUN. 

An old-fashioned love story, of a veiled lady who lives in solitude andwhose features her neighbors have never seen. There is a mystery at theheart of the book that throws over it the glamour of romance. 

THE MASTER'S VIOLIN. 

A love story in a musical atmosphere. A picturesque, old German virtuosoconsents to take for his pupil a handsome youth who proves to have anaptitude for technique, but not the soul of an artist. The youth cannotexpress the love, the passion and the tragedies of life as can the master. But a girl comes into his life, and through his passionate love for her, he learns the lessons that life has to give--and his soul awakes. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York

BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. 

No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal youngpeople of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of thetime when the reader was Seventeen. 

PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. 

This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, tragicthings which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a finished, exquisite work. 

PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. 

Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen, " this book contains some remarkable phasesof real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishness thathave ever been written. 

THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. 

Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against hisfather's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of afine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success. 

THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. 

A story of love and politics, --more especially a picture of a countryeditor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the loveinterest. 

THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. 

The "Flirt, " the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another tolose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister. 

Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York

SEWELL FORD'S STORIES

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

SHORTY McCABE. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 

A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigorous thinker, seeslife, and tells about it in a very unconventional way. 

SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. 

Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 

Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy with humannature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for"side-stepping with Shorty. "

SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. 

Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 

Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up tothe minute. He aids in the right distribution of a "conscience fund, " andgives joy to all concerned. 

SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS. 

Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. 

These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for physicalculture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at swellyachting parties. 

TORCHY. Illus. By Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg. 

A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to theyouths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the story of hisexperiences. 

TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. 

Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in theprevious book. 

ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. 

Torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was, " butthat young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people apart, which brings about many hilariously funny situations. 

TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. 

Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary for theCorrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and infectiousAmerican slang. 

WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. By F. Snapp and A. W. Brown. 

Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West Coast, incompany with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust and with hisfriend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's permission to place anengagement ring on Vee's finger. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York

JACK LONDON'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

JOHN BARLEYCORN. Illustrated by H. T. Dunn. 

This remarkable book is a record of the author's own amazing experiences. This big, brawny world rover, who has been acquainted with alcohol fromboyhood, comes out boldly against John Barleycorn. It is a string ofexciting adventures, yet it forcefully conveys an unforgettable idea andmakes a typical Jack London book. 

THE VALLEY OF THE MOON. Frontispiece by George Harper. 

The story opens in the city slums where Billy Roberts, teamster andex-prize fighter, and Saxon Brown, laundry worker, meet and love andmarry. They tramp from one end of California to the other, and in theValley of the Moon find the farm paradise that is to be their salvation. 

BURNING DAYLIGHT. Four illustrations. 

The story of an adventurer who went to Alaska and laid the foundations ofhis fortune before the gold hunters arrived. Bringing his fortunes to theStates he is cheated out of it by a crowd of money kings, and recovers itonly at the muzzle of his gun. He then starts out as a merciless exploiteron his own account. Finally he takes to drinking and becomes a picture ofdegeneration. About this time he falls in love with his stenographer andwins her heart but not her hand and then--but read the story!

A SON OF THE SUN. Illustrated by A. O. Fischer and C. W. Ashley. 

David Grief was once a light-haired, blue-eyed youth who came from Englandto the South Seas in search of adventure. Tanned like a native and aslithe as a tiger, he became a real son of the sun. The life appealed tohim and he remained and became very wealthy. 

THE CALL OF THE WILD. Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin and CharlesLivingston Bull. Decorations by Charles E. Hooper. 

A book of dog adventures as exciting as any man's exploits could be. Hereis excitement to stir the blood and here is picturesque color to transportthe reader to primitive scenes. 

THE SEA WOLF. Illustrated by W. J. Aylward. 

Told by a man whom Fate suddenly swings from his fastidious life into thepower of the brutal captain of a sealing schooner. A novel of adventurewarmed by a beautiful love episode that every reader will hail withdelight. 

WHITE FANG. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull. 

"White Fang" is part dog, part wolf and all brute, living in the frozennorth; he gradually comes under the spell of man's companionship, andsurrenders all at the last in a fight with a bull dog. Thereafter he isman's loving slave. 

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York