marked young Adolphus.

"Seems easy enough to write a book, too," Mrs. Barnes said. "Why, I
declare that some of those we get from the library--we subscribe to a
library, Mr. Fitzgerald--are just as simple and straightforward that
a child might have written them. No plot whatsoever, no murders or
mysteries or anything of that sort--just stories about people like
ourselves. I don't see how they can pay people for writing stories about
people just like those one meets every day!"

"I always say," Maud intervened, "that Spencer means to write a book
some day. He has quite the literary air, hasn't he, mother?"

"Indeed he has!" Mrs. Barnes declared, with an appreciative glance at
the gold-rimmed spectacles.

Mr. Fitzgerald modestly disclaimed any literary aspirations.

"The thing is a gift, after all," he declared, generously. "I can keep
accounts, and earn a fair salary at it, but if I attempted fiction I
should soon be up a tree."

Mr. Barnes nodded his approval of such sentiments.

"Every one to his trade, I say," he remarked. "What sort of salaries do
they pay now in the book trade?" he asked guilelessly.

"Very fair," Mr. Fitzgerald admitted candidly,--"very fair indeed."

"When I was your age," Mr. Barnes said reflectively, "I was getting--let
me see--forty-two shillings a week. Pretty good pay, too, for those
days."

Mr. Fitzgerald admitted the fact.

"Of course," he said apologetically, "salaries are a little higher now
all round. Mr. Howell has been very kind to me,--in fact I have had two
raises this year. I am getting four pounds ten now."

"Four pounds ten per week?" Mrs. Barnes exclaimed, laying down her knife
and fork.

"Certainly," Mr. Fitzgerald answered. "After Christmas, I have some
reason to believe that it may be five pounds."

Mr. Barnes whistled softly, and looked at the young man with a new
respect.

"I told you that--Mr.--that Spencer was doing pretty well, Mother," Maud
simpered, looking down at her plate.

"Any one to support?" her father asked, transferring a pickle from the
fork to his mouth.

"No one," Mr. Fitzgerald answered. "In fact, I may say that I have
some small expectations. I haven't done badly, either, out of the few
investments I have made from time to time."

"Saved a bit of money, eh?" Mr. Barnes enquired genially.

"I have a matter of four hundred pounds put by," Mr. Fitzgerald admitted
modestly, "besides a few sticks of furniture. I never cared much about