ir numbers
multiplied.

No longer was there the leisurely loitering and smoking that had
marked the week before. A spirit of activity was infused into the air
until even those who had no cause to hurry scrambled with the rest.

As Walter approached the garage he was waylaid by a young chauffeur
with rosy cheeks and a crisp, pleasant voice:

"Say, youngster, don't you want to lend a hand with these cushions?"
interrogated he, beaming ingratiatingly. "They have got to be beaten
and brushed before they can go back in the car. Chuck them over on the
floor for me, won't you?"

"Sure!" was the ready answer. "I'll beat them for you if you like."

"You're a good-natured little cuss," grinned the man. "I'm not asking
you to do that, though."

"But I'd be glad to."

"Suit yourself. But in my opinion you are a fool to take on jobs you
are not hired to do and get no money for."

"Oh, I don't care about the money."

"You don't, eh?" chimed in the derisive note of another chauffeur who
had at the instant come out of the doorway. "Say, who are you, anyway?
One of the Vanderbilts?"

"Quit heckling the young one, Peters," put in the chauffeur of the red
cheeks. "He's a good sort, all right."

"Ha, ha, Wheeler! You think that because you've jollied him into doing
your work for you, you old shirk."

"I didn't jolly him into anything. He offered."

"A likely story."

"But he did."

"Then you should have told him better," sniffed the other. "You know
well enough it isn't etiquette round here to do a stroke of work for
anybody else or accept a stroke. _Every man for himself_ is the
motto."

"But that's a rotten way!" Walter ejaculated impulsively. "I'd hate to
live like that--never being willing to help anybody or ask them to
help me."

The man called Peters gave him a contemptuous stare.

"You'll find there's no whining or asking help of other people here,"
announced he, with a sneer. "Those that are darn fools enough to get
into holes get out of them as best they can. It's their hunt."

Spitting emphatically on the ground he proceeded to go into the garage
with the tire he was carrying.

Walter took up a stick he saw lying near by.

"What are you going to do?" demanded the red-cheeked man, regarding
him with unconcealed surprise.

"Beat the cushions."

"But--but--heavens, sonny! Didn't you hear what Peters said?"

"Of course I heard. I don't have to sign up to a creed like that,
though, if I don't want to,