plans are, will you? By the way--have you any money of your
own?"

Henry looked pained. "I'm down to a couple of hundred. Why?"

"Then you'd better not waste any time. Go on down and look it over
this morning, and let me know."

"Why--let you know _what_?"

"Whether you're going to take the dare."

Henry's lips twitched. "Nobody ever beat me by default yet, Mr.
Archer."

"Just the same, I wish you'd let me know definitely--won't you? Of
course, if you shouldn't feel inclined to go ahead on your uncle's
plan--and that _would_ disappoint me--you could simply sell out. I
hope you won't, though. I hope very much indeed that you won't.
But--go look at it. And one last thing, Henry; your uncle put the
thing in this shape so that too many people wouldn't be gossiping
about it. I mean, if you and your aunt don't tell--nobody will.
That's all--but let me know."

Obediently, Henry proceeded down Main Street to the 300 block. His
curiosity was active, but he was warning himself to be on guard, for
his uncle's sentences, although invariably fair and invariably
appropriate, were also founded on a solid base of humour and
surprise. Henry remembered what Mr. Starkweather had said about
coming home to eat crow, and what Mr. Archer had said about the
comparative aristocracy of a garage, and he prepared himself for a
thunderstroke, and got a laugh ready. That book-keeping provision was
really clever; Uncle John had palpably framed it up to keep Henry
on the job. But Henry would outwit the provision. A few lessons in
a commercial-school, a modern card-system, and he could handle the
books of any small business in no time at all, as per the magazine
advertisements. Of course, the crow and the garage were merely
symbols; but whatever the business might be, and however distasteful,
there was only a year of it, and after that (so confident was Henry)
there was a lifetime of luxury. He was rather glad that his
penance came first; it would serve to make the enjoyment of his
wealth so much more zestful. He should always feel as though he had
worked for it, instead of having it handed out to him on a platter,
regardless of his personal deserts. Yes, he would work faithfully,
and because the task would be within his capabilities, (for Mr.
Starkweather was sane and practical, and Mr. Archer had prophesied
a finish with something to spare) he would end his probation in a
blaze of glory, and Anna would be proud of him, Judge Barklay would