you can have as many millions as you like; but I must
first make enough to keep me alive. A man who can't do that isn't fit
to marry."

"How much," demanded Polly, "do you need to keep you alive? Maybe I
could lend it to you."

Sam was entirely serious.

"Three thousand a year," he said.

Polly exclaimed indignantly.

"I call that extremely extravagant!" she cried. "If we wait until you
earn three thousand a year we may be dead. Do you expect to earn that
writing stories?"

"I can try," said Sam--"or I will rob a bank."

Polly smiled upon him appealingly.

"You know how I love your stories," she said, "and I wouldn't hurt your
feelings for the world; but, Sam dear, I think you had better rob a
bank!"

Addressing an imaginary audience, supposedly of men, Sam exclaimed:

"Isn't that just like a woman? She wouldn't care," he protested, "how I
got the money!"

Polly smiled cheerfully.

"Not if I got you!" she said. In extenuation, also, she addressed an
imaginary audience, presumably of women. "That's how I love him!" she
exclaimed. "And he asks me to wait! Isn't that just like a man?
Seriously," she went on, "if we just go ahead and get married father
would have to help us. He'd make you a vice-president or something."

At this suggestion Sam expressed his extreme displeasure.

"The last time I talked to your father," he said, "I was in a position
to marry, and I told him I wanted to marry you. What he said to that
was: 'Don't be an ass!' Then I told him he was unintelligent--and I
told him why. First, because he could not see that a man might want to
marry his daughter in spite of her money; and second, because he
couldn't see that her money wouldn't make up to a man for having him
for a father-in-law."

"Did you have to tell him that?" asked Polly.

"Some one had to tell him," said Sam gloomily. "Anyway, as a source of
revenue father is eliminated. I have still one chance in London. If
that fails I must go home. I've been promised a job in New York
reporting for a Wall Street paper--and I'll write stories on the side.
I've cabled for money, and if the London job falls through I shall sail
Wednesday."

"Wednesday!" cried Polly. "When you say things like 'Wednesday' you
make the world so dark! You must stay here! It has been such a long six
months; and before you earn three thousand dollars I shall be an old,
old maid. But if you get work here we could see each other every day."

They