You gotter keep up with the procesh if you wanter
make good."

Whimple laughed, but nodded his acceptance of the idea. "You're an
inspiration, William," he said. "You've so much sunshine in your
composition that you are shedding it nearly all the time, consciously
or unconsciously, on the worthy and unworthy alike."

And he spoke truly; William exercised no discrimination in this regard.
You could take it or leave it. Unless you had just lost some one near
and dear to you, or otherwise tasted the dregs of sorrow or remorse,
you couldn't ordinarily stay within a few yards of William and grieve.
Not that he had not suffered, young as he was. Not that he could not
and did not grieve with those he knew were in sorrow or distress; you
are not to think that of William.

CHAPTER III

Whimple early discovered that William was not a model of integrity,
diligence, and rectitude. Though an office boy he had his failings,
and William's explanations of them were as curious, but quite as
characteristic, as the lad himself.

"When it comes to business matters, Mister Whimple," he said with a
dignity that almost upset the young lawyer's effort to appear gravely
judicial, "it's me on the level. You can trust me to tell the truth
and do the right thing. But when it comes to spinnin' yarns, nobody
don't have to b'lieve 'em. Honest, I don't know when I'm telling the
truth about 'em myself."

"That is a curious psychological problem, William."

"Gee! is it as bad as that? I hope it ain't fatal."

Whimple smiled. "No," he said, slowly, "and yet, my boy, there is only
one way to build up a good reputation. Do you go to Sunday school?"

"Well--not reg'lar. Sunday's the busy time for me."

"Busy! Why?"

"Sure--I take the kiddies out if it's fine, and maybe we don't have the
bully times. Say"--his eyes were shining now, and he stood a little
closer to Whimple, who was sitting on the table--"there's Pete, he's
nine and a holy terror, and Bessie, she's six, and Joey, he's about
four, And Dolly--say, Mister Whimple, you'd orter see Dolly, she's got
big brown eyes, and brown hair, and a kinder solemn little face.
She----"

"Are you spinning yarns now, William?"

"It's between man and man now, Mister Whimple--this ain't no yarn. My
Pa says he uster think no man could keep a buncher kids like us and be
happy, and now he thinks no man could be happy without a bunch like us,
and Ma says it's hard scrapin' sometimes,