ption in Arizona, so
that when he was dead, Mr. Butler, Charles Butler he was called, found
himself alone in the world. His father had come from Australia, you
know, and so he had no relatives in California. He went to work in a
printing-office,--I have heard him tell of it many times,--and he got
three dollars a week, at first. His income to-day is at least thirty
thousand a year. How did he do it? He was honest, and faithful, and
industrious, and economical. He denied himself the enjoyments that most
boys indulge in. He made it a point to save so much every week, no
matter what he had to do without in order to save it. Of course, he was
soon earning more than three dollars a week, and as his wages increased
he saved more and more.

"He worked in the daytime, and at night he went to night school. He had
his eyes fixed always on the future. Later on he went to night high
school. When he was only seventeen, he was earning excellent wages at
setting type, but he was ambitious. He wanted a career, not a
livelihood, and he was content to make immediate sacrifices for his
ultimate again. He decided upon the law, and he entered father's office
as an office boy--think of that!--and got only four dollars a week. But
he had learned how to be economical, and out of that four dollars he went
on saving money."

She paused for breath, and to note how Martin was receiving it. His face
was lighted up with interest in the youthful struggles of Mr. Butler; but
there was a frown upon his face as well.

"I'd say they was pretty hard lines for a young fellow," he remarked.
"Four dollars a week! How could he live on it? You can bet he didn't
have any frills. Why, I pay five dollars a week for board now, an'
there's nothin' excitin' about it, you can lay to that. He must have
lived like a dog. The food he ate--"

"He cooked for himself," she interrupted, "on a little kerosene stove."

"The food he ate must have been worse than what a sailor gets on the
worst-feedin' deep-water ships, than which there ain't much that can be
possibly worse."

"But think of him now!" she cried enthusiastically. "Think of what his
income affords him. His early denials are paid for a thousand-fold."

Martin looked at her sharply.

"There's one thing I'll bet you," he said, "and it is that Mr. Butler is
nothin' gay-hearted now in his fat days. He fed himself like that for
years an' years, on a boy's stomach, an' I bet his stomach's