nk--"

"Never mind. I've worn worse. Paid for?"

"No-o--not yet."

"Anything left of the allowance?"

"Sure."

"Not possible!"

"Seven cents."

"Could you use a five spot?"

"Gee, Sam!"

"All right, all right. Pick it out over there on the bureau. How's your
conduct?"

"Pretty good."

Skippy, perched on the window-seat, watched with an approving eye the
splendors that a college education had bestowed. Sam's hair parted
without a rebellious ripple and lay down in perfect discipline. There
never were such immaculate white flannel trousers, such faultless
buckskin shoes and tie, while the socks and the touch of handkerchief
which bloomed from the breastpocket were a perfect electric blue.

"Well, Skippy, I'll have to look you over," said Sam carelessly. "Time
you had a few pointers. What did you do at school?"

"Substitute on the eleven and left field on the house nine," said
Skippy, who understood at once the meaning of such an inquiry.

"First rate. Haven't started on the demon cigarette yet?"

Skippy hesitated.

"Let's see your fingers," said the mentor, who perceiving no telltales
traces of nicotine grunted a qualified approval. "Well, how much?"

"Oh, just a few whiffs now and then up the ventilator. You know how it
is, Sambo!"

"Cut it out this summer. Your business is to grow. Savvy? If ever I
catch you, you young whipper-snapper--"

"All right, Sam."

Skippy the first held him a moment with a stern and disciplinary eye and
then relaxing, said as he contemplated the hang of his trousers before
the mirror, "I hear you've started in to be a fusser."

"Who told you that?" said Skippy with the rising inflection.

"I ran in on Turkey Reiter."

"Oh," said Skippy relaxing. "With Miss Lafontaine? That was all a put-up
game!"

Sam considered him and noting the fatuous smile shook his head and said:

"Well, bub, you're at the age when they fall fast and easy. Now listen
to a few pearls of wisdom. Got your ears open?"

"Fire away, Sambo!"

"If you've _got_ to fall and you will--sure you will, don't shake your
head--if you've got to fall, don't trail around on an old woman's skirts
and get treated like a dog--fetch and carry stuff. Look the field over
and pick out something young and grateful. Something easy. Something
that'll look up to you. Let her love you. Be a hero. Savvy?"

"Huh! Girls give me a swift pain," said Skippy with a curl of his upper
lip.

"Wait and count the pains," sai