solicitous inquiries he was noncommittal. He picked up a newspaper
and read for a moment, listlessly. Then he threw it down.

"Where were you last night?" she inquired, with a suspicion born of long
experience.

"Molly's," he replied shortly.

"That all?"

"Yes."

"Why so solemn, then?"

He lit a cigarette and flicked the match deftly into the fireplace. "Oh,
we had it out, and she--said things."

"What things?"

"The same line you get off. About my not doing anything--and all that."

"About not working, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Well--you have been a little slow at getting started, haven't you?"

He fired up hotly at that.

"And what if I have? It hasn't been for lack of trying, let me tell you.
I've been doing my best to get a job ever since I said I would."

"And you can't get one?" Judith smiled incredulously.

"No. Oh, of course there's plenty of chance to invest some money and be
treasurer and all that, but I mean a regular job. I've tried
everywhere." He hung his head dejectedly.

"What seems to be the trouble?"

"Those who know me know me too well. And those who don't know me--don't
know me," he answered cryptically. "And I don't know anything, myself."

"I'm so sorry," she said helplessly.

"How do you suppose." He switched the topic suddenly. "How do you
suppose a chap without any pull or any friends--a fellow like Good, for
instance--gets jobs?"

Before the echo of Roger's words had died from the air, a maid stood in
the doorway, announcing the presence of Good himself.

"Why not ask him?" said Judith obviously. And when the tall man came in,
still dressed in his familiarly shabby brown suit, Roger put the
question.

"How did I get my first job," he repeated slowly, with a twinkle in his
eye. "Well--I asked for one--and I kept on asking for one until I got
it."

"But that's just what I've done," protested Roger.

"Perhaps you're more particular than I was."

"I'm not a bit particular," cried the younger man earnestly. "I'd do
anything. I've gotten over being particular."

"No, my boy, you haven't," smiled Good. Then a faint shadow crossed his
face, and he added softly, "You've never been hungry."

Judith hoped that he would amplify the intimation. But as so often
happened, he began a theme only to dismiss it. His tone changed and he
turned briskly to her.

"Well, Miss Wynrod, why don't you do something to help the lad?"

"Me?" she echoed in surprise. "What can I do?"

"Wou