upon the
lad. It was impossible to explain to anybody just what Hal Harling was
to him. "I chase round with the Harlings a lot," explained he. "They
are almost like my own family."

"Oh, so that's it!"

"I'd decided just now to hunt for a job and see if I couldn't make good
the money Louise is missing. She can't seem to find a darn thing to do,
poor kid. She's been out of work over a week now and they've got to
have money or Mrs. Harling and Grandfather Harling will starve to
death. Of course I'm not so much," continued Carl modestly. "But I'm
willing to work and I'm sure I could earn something."

The owner of the velvet-wheeled car did not speak at once. Then he
remarked abruptly:

"You don't go to school to-morrow, do you?"

"Saturday? Not on your--no, sir."

"Then you'd be free to come to my office to-morrow morning and see me,
wouldn't you?"

"Do you think you could give me a job? Sure I'd come!" ejaculated Carl
with zest.

"Good! Come to the Berwick building, Number 197 Dalby Street, to-morrow
at ten o'clock. Give your name and--by the by, what is your name?"

"Carl McGregor, sir."

"A fine old Scotch name. Well, you write it on a card or a piece of
paper and give it to the man you will find at the door. Maybe I shall
be able to do something for you."

The car rolled up to the curb and stopped.

"You've been mighty kind, sir," said Carl, as he leaped out. "You've
brought me nearly home."

"Oh, I was going this way anyway," smiled the man in the fur coat. "You
won't have far to walk now, will you?"

"Only a block. I'll be home in a jiffy."

"You won't forget about to-morrow."

"_Forget!_"

Laughing at something that evidently amused him very much the stranger
started his engine.

As for Carl, he raced home as fast as ever his feet would go. Already
he was late for supper, a fact always annoying to his mother, who
considered tardiness one of the most flagrant of sins. To be sure he
was not often late, for miss what other functions he might he seldom
missed his meals. To-night, however, the table had been cleared, the
dishes washed, and only a saucepan of corn-meal mush, steaming on the
back of the stove, remained as a souvenir of the feast.

"For goodness' sake, Carl, wherever have you been?" asked Mrs.
McGregor, as he entered, panting from his run up the long flights of
stairs. "I've been worried to death about you. Go wash your hands and
come and eat your supper right away. You know I don