arroll and
Hastings, stock-brokers. He spoke the names of his employers with awe.
It was a firm distinguished, conservative, and long established. The
white-haired young man seemed to nod in assent.

"Do you know them?" demanded Jimmie suspiciously. "Are you a customer
of ours?"

"I know them," said the young man. "They are customers of mine."

Jimmie wondered in what way Carroll and Hastings were customers of the
white-haired young man. Judging him by his outer garments, Jimmie
guessed he was a Fifth Avenue tailor; he might be even a haberdasher.
Jimmie continued. He lived, he explained, with his mother at One
Hundred and Forty-sixth Street; Sadie, his sister, attended the public
school; he helped support them both, and he now was about to enjoy a
well-earned vacation camping out on Hunter's Island, where he would
cook his own meals, and, if the mosquitoes permitted, sleep in a tent.

"And you like that?" demanded the young man. "You call that fun?"

"Sure!" protested Jimmie. "Don't you go camping out?"

"I go camping out," said the good Samaritan, "whenever I leave New
York."

Jimmie had not for three years lived in Wall Street not to understand
that the young man spoke in metaphor.

"You don't look," objected the young man critically, "as though you
were built for the strenuous life."

Jimmie glanced guiltily at his white knees.

"You ought ter see me two weeks from now," he protested. "I get all
sunburnt and hard--hard as anything!"

The young man was incredulous.

"You were near getting sunstruck when I picked you up," he laughed.
"If you're going to Hunter's Island, why didn't you go to Pelham Manor?"

"That's right!" assented Jimmie eagerly. "But I wanted to save the ten
cents so's to send Sadie to the movies. So I walked."

The young man looked his embarrassment.

"I beg your pardon," he murmured.

But Jimmie did not hear him. From the back of the car he was dragging
excitedly at the hated suit-case.

"Stop!" he commanded. "I got ter get out. I got ter walk."

The young man showed his surprise.

"Walk!" he exclaimed. "What is it--a bet?"

Jimmie dropped the valise and followed it into the roadway. It took
some time to explain to the young man. First, he had to be told about
the scout law and the one good turn a day, and that it must involve
some personal sacrifice. And, as Jimmie pointed out, changing from a
slow suburban train to a racing-car could not be listed as a s