porch and the following conversation took place.

"Hello, Jack."

"Hello, Tootsie."

"You idiotic boy, why didn't you telegraph?"

"What's the use? I'm here," said Skippy to whom a quarter of a dollar
was an object of reverence.

"Aren't you going to kiss me?"

Skippy glanced around.

"Oh, I suppose so."

"Good gracious, he's got a cane!"

"Say, who let you put your hair up anyhow!"

"I'm fifteen."

"Come off."

"I say, Jack, awful glad to see you, honest, and let's stop fighting
this summer. You help me and I'll help you."

Skippy looked at her suspiciously.

"Getting on society airs," he thought, but out loud he announced: "All
right, Tootsie, but see you don't begin. And if you want to help out,
tell the Governor to make my birthday present in cash. I'm awfully
strapped."

"Now for old Clara," he said to himself and remembering the last
encounter when he had upset the gold fish over her, he braced himself
for the shock. But to his profound amazement Miss Bedelle was honey
itself.

"Good gracious, Jack, how big you've grown," she said after he had
submitted to the second sisterly embrace, "and such style, too! What a
fascinating tie! Dad and mother are out but Sam's just home. Come on up
and see how nicely I've arranged your room. How are you anyhow?"

"Hard up," said Skippy instantly.

"Would this help any?" said Miss Clara extracting a ten dollar bill from
a well-filled purse.

Skippy gulped in astonishment.

"What's the matter?"

"How do you mean?"

"Gee, sis, are you going to be married?"

"The idea, you funny boy!" said his sister, blushing violently. "Run on
now and see Sam."

"What's the matter with everyone anyhow?" said Skippy to himself.
"There's a reason. There certainly is a dark reason."

Still pondering over the motives for this unaccountable reception he
proceeded along the hall, to the room of his heart's idol, his brother
Sam, senior at Yale and star of the nine, Sambones Bedelle, known at
school as Skippy the first, about whose athletic prowesses the tradition
still remained.

"Who's that?" said the great man at the sound of his knock. "Skippy?
Come in and let's look you over."

"Hello, Sambo," said the young idol-worshipper, sidling in.

The older brother caught his hand, slapped him on the back and held him
off for inspection.

"By Jove, you young rascal, you're sprouting up fast. Whew, what a suit!
Pretty strong, bub--pretty strong."

"I say, do you thi