continually makin' some
discove'ies. 'Necessity's the motheh of inventions.' Now thass anotheh
thing I 'ave notiz--about that month of Octobeh: it always come befo'
you think it's comin'. I 'ave notiz that about eve'y month. Now, to-day
we ah the twennieth Octobeh! Is it not so?" He lighted his cigarette.
"You ah compel' to co'obo'ate me."

CHAPTER XXX.

LIGHTING SHIP.

Yes, the tide was coming in. The Richlings' bark was still on the sands,
but every now and then a wave of promise glided under her. She might
float, now, any day. Meantime, as has no doubt been guessed, she was
held on an even keel by loans from the Doctor.

"Why you don't advertise in papers?" asked Ristofalo.

"Advertise? Oh, I didn't think it would be of any use. I advertised a
whole week, last summer."

"You put advertisement in wrong time and keep it out wrong time," said
the Italian.

"I have a place in prospect, now, without advertising," said Richling,
with an elated look.

It was just here that a new mistake of Richling's emerged. He had come
into contact with two or three men of that wretched sort that indulge
the strange vanity of keeping others waiting upon them by promises of
employment. He believed them, liked them heartily because they said
nothing about references, and gratefully distended himself with their
husks, until Ristofalo opened his eyes by saying, when one of these men
had disappointed Richling the third time:--

"Business man don't promise but once."

"You lookin' for book-keeper's place?" asked the Italian at another
time. "Why don't dress like a book-keeper?"

"On borrowed money?" asked Richling, evidently looking upon that
question as a poser.

"Yes."

"Oh, no," said Richling, with a smile of superiority; but the other one
smiled too, and shook his head.

"Borrow mo', if you don't."

Richling's heart flinched at the word. He had thought he was giving his
true reason; but he was not. A foolish notion had floated, like a grain
of dust, into the over-delicate wheels of his thought,--that men would
employ him the more readily if he looked needy. His hat was unbrushed,
his shoes unpolished; he had let his beard come out, thin and untrimmed;
his necktie was faded. He looked battered. When the Italian's gentle
warning showed him this additional mistake on top of all his others he
was dismayed at himself; and when he sat down in his room and counted
the cost of an accountant's uniform, so to speak, the r