d always
service. Had he seen his father? Yes, and he told them about the
interview.

"And," said Bubbles, "he sent me a box Thanks-giving, There was a cold
turkey and caramels and guava jelly and ginger-snaps, and walnut meats
and seedless raisins, and, and as Mr. Tompkins says, it doesn't do to be
_too_ hard on a man."

[Illustration: They were much amused with Bubbles, who came out to
them for Christmas vacation]

LIII

Spring came. Their mine made its first shipments of ore and was no
longer a paper success. The balance-sheet for the first month after
shipments had begun made Wilmot whistle. He couldn't believe the
figures, and worked till late into the night, trying to find some
dreadful error. Finding none, finding that with the help of others he
had really made good at last, the rough life began to lose its savor. If
he still owed money it could be but for a short time. He was free as
air--free to do what he pleased--almost to spend what he pleased.

"Barbs," he said, the next morning, "the mine's no good; we've got to
tackle something else."

"What do you mean, no good? Why, you said--"

"I know what I said. The mine is a success. Aside from what your father
has, you're a rich woman. And I'm a rich man. And that's the difficulty.
There's no use working our hearts out over a thing that's a definite
success--is there? No fun in it. We've got to look round for something
else. Now we are always going to have money--that's certain. What are we
going to do with it? Think of something hard--something worth while."

"Oh," she said, "I can't--can you?"

"No," he said almost angrily, "I can't. And that's the rotten side of
money. That's the stumbling-block for everybody who succeeds in
collecting a lot of it. The distribution is infinitely harder than the
collecting. I think we'd better pull up stakes, go back to New York, and
think hard."

"Yes. Let's."

"I'd like to have a talk with Blizzard."

Barbara's eyebrows went high with surprise.

"Why not? Your father writes that the man is doing more good right in
New York City where it's most needed than any six philanthropists the
place ever owned. Maybe he's got something really big in view, and maybe
he'll let us in on the ground floor."

"Well," said Barbara, "considering everything, I shouldn't care to have
much to do with him."

Wilmot put back his head and laughed aloud. "That," said he, "is
precisely the sort of advice that I used to give