?" And
seeing the sudden tremor of mirth which had appeared on Roger's face, "Look
here, Mr. Gale," he went eagerly on. "When every paper in the town is
telling these fellers where they belong--calling 'em crooks, degenerates,
and preaching regular sermons right into their faces--why shouldn't we help
'em to read the stuff? How do we know it won't do 'em good? It's church to
'em, that's what it is--and business for this office. Nine of these guys
have sent in their money just in the last week or so--"

"Look out, my boy," said Roger, with slow and solemn emphasis. "If you
aren't extremely careful you'll find yourself a millionaire."

"But wait a minute, Mr. Gale--"

"Not in this office," Roger said. "Send 'em back, every one of 'em!
Understand?"

"Yes, sir," was the meek reply. And with a little sigh of regret John
turned his wits to other kinds and conditions of New Yorkers who might care
to see themselves in print.

As they worked together day by day, Roger had occasional qualms over
leaving John here in the hot town while he himself went up to the
mountains. He even thought of writing to Edith that he was planning to
bring John, too. But no, she wouldn't like it. So he did something else
instead.

"John," he said, one morning, "I'm going to raise your salary to a hundred
dollars a month." Instantly from the lad's bright eyes there shot a look of
triumph.

"Thanks, Mr. Gale," was his hearty response.

"And in the meantime, Johnny, I want you to take a good solid month off."

"All right, sir, thank you," John replied. "But I guess it won't be quite a
month. I don't feel as if I needed it."

The next day at the office he appeared resplendent in a brand-new suit of
clothes, a summer homespun of light gray set off by a tie of flaming red.
There was nothing soft about that boy. No, Johnny knew how to look out for
himself.

And Roger went up to the farm.

CHAPTER XXIII

George met him at the station, as he had done a year before. But at once
Roger noticed a difference. In the short time since his father's death
certain lines had come in the boy's freckled face, and they gave him a
thoughtful, resolute look. George's voice was changing. One moment it was
high and boyish, again a deep and manly bass. As he kept his eyes on the
horses and talked about his mother, his grandfather from time to time threw
curious side glances.

"Oh, yes," George was saying, "mother's all right, she's doing fine. It was