ized representative, I am not prepared to
answer," Barton replied. "However, I think I can tell you what your
father would do under these circumstances."

"What?" inquired Don.

"He would place all the facts in the case before the girl, then
before her father, and learn just what they had to say."

"Wrong. He wouldn't go beyond the girl," answered Don.

He replaced the change in his pocket.

"Ah," he sighed--"them were the happy days."

"If I remember correctly," continued Jonas Barton thoughtfully,
"twelve dollars and sixty-three cents was fully as much as your father
possessed when he asked your mother to marry him. That was just after
he lost his ship off Hatteras."

"Yes, them were the happy days," nodded Don. "But, at that, Dad had
his nerve with him."

"He did," answered Barton. "He had his nerve with him always."

CHAPTER II

IT BECOMES NECESSARY TO EAT

In spite of the continued efforts of idealists to belittle it, there
is scarcely a fact of human experience capable of more universal
substantiation than that in order to live it is necessary to eat. The
corollary is equally true: in order to eat it is necessary to pay.

Yet until now Pendleton had been in a position to ignore, if not to
refute, the latter statement. There was probably no detail of his
daily existence calling for less thought or effort than this matter of
dining. Opportunities were provided on every hand,--at the houses of
his friends, at his club, at innumerable cafes and hotels,--and all
that he was asked to contribute was an appetite.

It was not until he had exhausted his twelve dollars and sixty-three
cents that Don was in any position to change his point of view. But
that was very soon. After leaving the office of Barton & Saltonstall
at eleven, he took a taxi to the Harvard Club, which immediately cut
down his capital to ten dollars and thirteen cents. Here he met
friends, Higgins and Watson and Cabot of his class, and soon he had
disposed of another dollar. They then persuaded him to walk part way
downtown with them. On his return, he passed a florist's, and,
remembering that Frances was going that afternoon to a _the dansant_,
did the decent thing and sent up a dozen roses, which cost him five
dollars. Shortly after this he passed a confectioner's, and of course
had to stop for a box of Frances's favorite bonbons, which cost him
another dollar.

Not that he considered the expense in the least. As long as he was