in view which calls for
all the available capital I have. Please write me a nice note and
say that you don't mind a bit. Otherwise we shall stop being
friends and I shall always get my clothes from somebody else. Let
me know when the new models come....

V

On her way down-town Cynthia stopped to see G. G.'s mother and found the
whole household in the throes occasioned by its head's pneumonia.

"Why haven't you let me know?" exclaimed Cynthia. "There must be so
many little things that I could have done to help you."

Though the sick man couldn't have heard them if they had shouted, the
two women talked in whispers, with their heads very close together.

"He's better," said G. G.'s mother, "but yesterday they wanted me to
send for G. G. 'No,' I said. 'You may have given him up, but I haven't.
If I send for my boy it would look as if I had surrendered,' And almost
at once, if you'll believe it, he seemed to shake off something that was
trying to strangle him and took a turn for the better; and now they say
that, barring some long names, he will get well.... It does look, my
dear, as if death had seen that there was no use facing a thoroughly
determined woman."

At this point, because she was very much overwrought, G. G.'s mother had
a mild little attack of hysteria; and Cynthia beat her on the back and
shook her and kissed her until she was over it. Then G. G.'s mother told
Cynthia about her financial troubles.

"It isn't us that matters," she said, "but that G. G. ought to have one
more year in a first-rate climate; and it isn't going to be possible to
give it to him. They say that he's well, my dear, absolutely well; but
that now he should have a chance to build up and become strong and
heavy, so that he can do a man's work in the world. As it is, we shall
have to take him home to live; and you know what New York dust and
climate can do to people who have been very, very ill and are still
delicate and high-strung."

"There's only one thing to do for the present," said Cynthia--"anybody
with the least notion of business knows that--we must keep him at
Saranac just as long as our credit holds out, mustn't we?--until the
woman where he boards begins to act ugly and threatens to turn him out
in the snow."

"Oh, but that would be dreadful!" said G. G.'s mother. Cynthia smiled in
a superior way.

"I don't believe," she said, "that you understand the first thing about
business. Even my fathe