urrent.

"Good-bye, Ethel."

"Good-bye, boy." The little spark was out.

PART THREE

IN WHICH PETER
BECOMES A BACHELOR

PART THREE

IN WHICH PETER BECOMES A BACHELOR

I

The day before leaving for his summer vacation Peter was notified that
he was wanted in his private office by the younger Siegel Brother.
Though he couldn't quite fall in with the dark prognostications of
Blinders that he was about to be mulcted of his salary by a plot which
had been plainly indicated by the marked partiality of our Mr. Croker,
the incident gave him some uneasiness. The young Siegel Brother must
have been younger than somebody of course, though it couldn't have been
by more than a scratch, and he might have been any age without betraying
it, so deeply was he sunk in the evidence of the surpassing quality of
the grocery department. However, there was something surprisingly young
looking out at Peter from the junior brother's red and white rotundity,
at which he took heart immensely.

"Weatheral, Peter, canned goods, recommended by Mr. Greenslet," Siegel
Brother ticked him off from a manilla envelope. "Just a little
honorarium, Mr. Weatheral, we are in the habit of distributing to such
of our employees as make practical suggestions to the advantage of the
business." Contriving to make his hands meet in front of him by clasping
them very high up on his chest, Siegel Brother assumed that he had
folded his arms, and waited to see what Peter would do about it.

"We have also a little savings bank for the benefit of our employees
which pays 3 per cent., yet I believe we have you not among our
depositors." There was the slightest possible burr to his speech as
though it were blunted by so much fatness.

"Well, you see, sir--there's a mortgage." Peter was afraid he should
damage himself by the admission, but the firm heard him out.

"How much?"

"It was a thousand, but we've got it down to seven hundred--six hundred
and sixty," Peter corrected himself with a glance at his honorarium.

"And the farm, it is worth----" Siegel Brother parted his hands slightly
to admit of any valuation.

"Two thousand."

"So! Well, Mr. Weatheral, that is not so bad, and if I were you, when I
had occasion to speak of it I would say, not 'I am paying a mortgage,'
that is dead work, Mr. Weatheral, but 'I am buying a farm.' It goes
easier so."

"Thank you, sir, I'll remember." He supposed his employer was done with
him, but a