re confidential little walks to and from school, no more
squirrel-feeding excursions. And the glorious dream of the future was as
completely demolished as the "Tigers' Home Grounds." There could be no
thousand dollars and a home when he reached his majority now.

He lay staring at the pattern in the ceiling paper, sobbing ever so
little now and then, for some minutes, then wrenched himself miserably
over on his side.

There he found that horrid old bank staring him in the face, that same
pig bank which stood a grinning monument to his industry of the past
months. But what good was the paper route now? or where the pleasure in
dropping his weekly income into that long, narrow slot? Louise wasn't
his girl any more. She'd said so, herself.

In a sudden fit of spite, he sprang up and seized the heavy, sneering
bit of pottery in both hands. The next moment, it crashed to the floor
and pennies, nickels, dimes, and even half-dollars rolled out on the
carpet or mingled with the shattered bits of china. He stood astounded
at the number for a moment, then gathered them up on his bed, and took
careful count.

Thirty-eight dollars and fifty-three cents? He could scarcely believe
his eyes.

Then he lay back, not quite so grief-stricken, and stared thoughtfully
into space until Mrs. Fletcher called him for dinner.

[Illustration: _"Thirty-eight dollars and fifty-three cents."_]

At the table, that evening, he was unusually quiet. As he finished his
last slice of bread and butter, he looked up at his father.

"Dad, if a fellow earns a lot of money, all by himself, he can spend it
any way he wants, can't he?"

Mr. Fletcher nodded. "Why, son?"

"I was just wondering. That's all."

A week later, Louise was sitting on the street curbing in front of her
apartment building, when a crimson-clad baseball warrior on a new
bicycle sped over the macadam and came to a sudden halt beside her. She
raised her eyes in astonished recognition. It was her late fiance.

"'Lo."

"'Lo."

"Like my new wheel?"

"Uhu."

"Bought it out of the money I was saving so's we could get married. Cost
me twenty-one dollars, and it's got puncture-proof tires and a real
coaster brake. Just watch me ride it!"

He sped off, rode free for a moment, threw the brake on and came to a
sudden stop, then cut a figure eight over the paving. The clear spring
sun made miniature rainbows in the shining, rapidly revolving spokes,
and an early robin warbled his a