, many older
and stronger concerns than the milk company in which he was interested
had failed.

"Panics are bad things," murmured Dick, which sentiment was echoed by
many another person that day.

Still Dick was not too much cast down. He knew he was a very wealthy
young man, and he had no fear that his father's millions would be
disturbed in the general hard times that would be sure to follow. But it
hurt his pride that, with all his wealth, he could not do as much as
little Tim Muldoon had done--start with nothing and make money.

"I'm almost ready to sell papers," mused Dick, with a smile.

However, he decided to do nothing rash. He still had more than a month
until his birthday--the time limit for making the paying investment--and
he felt that in that period something would occur that would enable him
to fulfil the conditions of his mother's will.

"At any rate, I've got to go to school to-day," he said to himself, as
he finished what, for him, was rather a slim breakfast. "I guess I'll
come out right in the end. In fact, I've got to if I want to escape
Uncle Ezra's clutches."

As Dick was coming home from his classes that afternoon, turning over in
his mind various plans for making a good investment--from growing
mushrooms or raising squabs to starting a brass band or becoming
proprietor of a small circus--he saw coming toward him a dilapidated
rig. He knew it could be none other than that of Henry Darby. As the
horse and wagon approached it seemed to Dick to look, more than ever,
ready to fall apart.

"Well, Henry," he remarked. "I see you're still in business. The panic
hasn't bothered you, has it?"

"Not me, so much as it has the horse and wagon," replied Henry, with a
laugh. "Don't you think that beast's ribs are nearer caving in than they
were the last time you saw it?"

"He does look thinner, for a fact," admitted Dick.

"He is," and Henry spoke with solemn earnestness. "They were almost
touching on either side this morning, but I gave him all the hay I could
afford and that sort of spread them apart. As for the wagon--well, I
don't need any bell or automobile horn to tell people I'm coming. It
rattles enough to be heard two blocks off."

"Why don't you get a better outfit?" suggested Dick. "I should think it
would pay."

"It might pay, but I couldn't. I'll have to get along with this for a
while," and Henry looked at the odd assortment of old metal he had
collected and was taking to his stor