many foolish notions in his head through accepting thoughtlessly the
ideas of the people he traveled with. But, once he let his good sense get
the upper hand--He helps me now far more than I help him."

"Has he consented to let them give him a salary yet?" asked Adelaide,
not because she was interested, but because she desperately felt that
the conversation must be kept alive. Perhaps Ross was even now on his
way to Saint X.

"He still gets what he fixed on at first--ten dollars a week more than
the foreman."

"Honestly, Madelene," said Adelaide, in a flush and flash of
irritation, "don't you think that's absurd? With the responsibility of
the whole business on his shoulders, you know he ought to have more
than a common workman."

"In the first place you must not forget that everyone is paid very high
wages at the university works now."

"And he's the cause of that--of the mills doing so well," said Del. She
could see Ross entering the gates--at the house--inquiring--What was she
talking to Madelene about? Yes, about Arthur and the mills. "Even the men
that criticise him--Arthur, I mean--most severely for 'sowing discontent
in the working class,' as they call it," she went on, "concede that he
has wonderful business ability. So he ought to have a huge salary."

"No doubt he earns it," replied Madelene. "But the difficulty is that he
can't take it without it's coming from the other workmen. You see, money
is coined sweat. All its value comes from somebody's labor. He deserves
to be rewarded for happening to have a better brain than most men, and
for using it better. But there's no fund for rewarding the clever for
being cleverer than most of their fellow-beings, any more than there's a
fund to reward the handsome for being above the average in looks. So he
has to choose between robbing his fellow-workmen, who are in his power,
and going without riches. He prefers going without."

"That's very noble of you both, I'm sure," said Adelaide absently.
The Chicago express would be getting in at four o'clock--about five
hours. Absurd! The morning papers said Mr. Whitney had had a relapse.
"Very noble," she repeated absently. "But I doubt if anybody will
appreciate it."

Madelene smiled cheerfully. "That doesn't worry Arthur or me," said she,
with her unaffected simplicity. "We're not looking for appreciation.
We're looking for a good time." Del, startled, began to listen to
Madelene. A good time--"And it so happens," ca