nt he had. Huh! I soon cured him of that.
'Go right to it, son,' says I. 'Paint something you can sell for five
hundred and I'll cover it with a thousand. Until then, not a red cent.'
And inside of twenty-four hours he concluded he wasn't any budding
Whistler or Sargent, and came asking what I thought he should tackle
first. Eh? Think you could place him somewhere?"

So Old Hickory merely shrugs his shoulders and presses the button for
Piddie. I expect he hears a similar tale about once a month and as a
rule he comes across with a job for sonny boy. 'Specially when it's a
director that does the askin'. Now and then, too, one of 'em turns out
to be quite a help, and if they're utterly useless he can always depend
on Piddie to find it out and give 'em the quick chuck.

As a rule this swift release don't mean much to the Harolds and Perceys
except a welcome vacation while the old man pries open another side
entrance in the house of Opportunity, Ltd., which fact Piddie is wise
to. But in this ease it's a different proposition.

"Did you mean it, Tyler, handin' yourself the fresh air that way!" I
asks him.

"Absolutely," says he, snappin' some rubber bands around, a neat little
bundle.

"Who'd have thought you was a self starter!" says I. "What you going to
do now?"

He hunches his shoulders. "Don't know," says he. "I must find something
mighty quick, though."

"Oh, it can't be as desperate a case as that, can if?" I asks. "You know
you'll get two weeks' pay and with that any single-footed young hick
like you ought to----"

"But it happens I'm not single-footed," breaks in Hartley.

"Eh?" says I. "You don't mean you've gone and----"

"Nearly a month ago," says Hartley. "Nicest little girl in the world,
too. You must have noticed her. She was on the candy counter in the
arcade for a month or so."

"What!" says I. "The one with the honey-colored hair and the bashful
behavin' eyes?"

Hartley nods and blushes.

"Say, you are a fast worker when you get going, ain't you?" says I.
"Picked a Cutie-Sweet right away from all that opposition. But I judge
she's no heiress."

"Edith is just as poor as I am," admits Hartley.

"How about your old man?" I goes on. "What did Z. K. have to say when he
heard!"

"Suppose'we don't go into that," says Hartley. "As a matter of fact, I
hung up the 'phone just as he was getting his second wind."

"Then he didn't pull the 'bless you, my children,' stuff, eh?" I
suggests.

"N