otted recreation fields. The great Bedelle gymnasium,
which but yesterday was outlined in splendor against the sky, was now
cinders and dust, Fifth Avenue further off than Africa, and as for
Lillian Russell--

"Looking all over for you, Skippy," said a familiar voice.

Before him stood Toots Cortrelle.

"Oh, it's you," he said heavily.

"Are you flush? I thought if you were--that quarter you know--you
said--"

"I said I should remember," said Skippy, with a hollow laugh. There was
just twenty cents in his pockets that an hour ago had been heavy with
millions. He drew out two dimes and tendered them.

"Here's the best I can do, Toots. I'll try to get that other nickel to
you to-morrow."

CHAPTER VIII

WHEN FRIENDS PROVE FALSE

COMMONPLACE minds are crushed by defeat; great imaginations rise to
profit. Ten days after Skippy Bedelle had seen the gilded fabric of his
future greatness collapse with the failure of the Foot Regulator to
revolutionize the bathtub industry the spirit of invention had risen
triumphantly from the ashes of first disillusionment. After all, there
were other services to render to humanity, and the mind that at the age
of fifteen could have reasoned so brilliantly in theory must inevitably
express itself with profit to the race and to his own individual bank
account.

At first Skippy's depression had been profound, and as the sensation was
new he enjoyed its sensual charm to the fullest. He discarded the jaunty
cap for a slouch hat which he pulled down over his eyes; he selected the
soberest of neckwear, turned up his collar, sank his fists in his
pockets, and spent solitary afternoons among the ruins of the Carthage
of his imagination, seated on the site of what would never be the John
C. Bedelle Gymnasium. Even the spectacle of Cap Keafer knocking out a
home run in the ninth inning brought him no rapturous exultation. He was
akin to _Ivanhoe_, the disinherited knight, and _Athos_ of the brooding
sorrows. The world had receded from him, and nobody cared or noticed. He
was alone, misunderstood, without a friend in the world. For after what
had happened he could never again feel the same towards that basest of
ingrates, Snorky Green.

* * * * *

The evening after the collapse of the Bedelle Foot Regulator,
Incorporated, there had been a short and exceedingly painful interview.

"Well, Skippy, old top," said Snorky, who was genuinely contrite and