ions that had seemed almost within his
grasp in London out of "old Brown's farm." Finally, after a long
silence, Job got a letter one day, written in pencil, that betrayed the
deepest depression and most utter disgust. He had "come an awful cropper
from a mustang," and been laid up for three months; his money was all
gone; he could get nothing to do. "I tried to get a clerkship in a
'country store' before I got my fall," he explained, "though if I have
got to that I had better go back to England, where those fellows get a
half-holiday on Saturdays and lots of bank holidays, and are in
civilization at least. Perhaps if the governor saw me with a quill
behind my ear, or riding down to the city on top of a 'bus, smoking a
pipe, he'd do something for me for the honor of the family. But he's in
a beastly humor now, and wouldn't send me a fiver to save my life. He
says that I'm not worth my salt anywhere, and that he washes his hands
of me. And Bill has taken to patronizing me so tremendously that I'd
starve rather than ask his help. So I must just stick it out here, I
suppose, unless you meant what you said when we parted, and will help me
to get back home, where I have friends, a brother-in-law especially, an
awfully good sort of fellow, that would stick to a fellow through thick
and thin, no matter what other fellows said of him. There's a lot of
'fellows' in this last sentence, but I never was a clever fellow--I had
better stop. I am getting worse mixed up than ever."

Mr. Ketchum's reply to this was a short, cordial, hearty note, enclosing
a check for five hundred dollars, telling Mr. Ramsay to draw upon him
for more if he needed it, bidding him keep "a stiff upper lip," and
advising him to stop at Fairfield _en route_ to England and see if there
wasn't some better way out of his difficulties. About two weeks after
this Mr. Ramsay walked into Mr. Ketchum's office and almost wrung his
hand off, "Awfully kind of you," "awfully glad to see you," "awfully
good news to tell you," was poured out as in one breath by the bronzed,
thin, but still beautiful Englishman, whose illness had given a last and
quite irresistible charm of spirituality to his handsome face.

"Sit down, man, and tell us all about it," said Mr. Ketchum, when he had
given him an embrace half real, half theatrical. "Delighted to see
_you_, if it comes to that."

"Here's that check you sent me," said Mr. Ramsay, going straight to his
point, as usual. "I never