mbler's dread of
failure, an instinctive horror of any one who had been touched with
misfortune, as the living hurry from the dead. The feeling of loneliness
began to creep over him. Alarmed, he steadfastly refused all week-end
invitations.

One Sunday his father turned up suddenly in the Court, shook hands with
Granning, who alone kept him company, and passed a few perfunctory
remarks with his son.

"How is it you haven't been to me for money?" he said gruffly.

Bojo answered with a lightness he was far from feeling:

"Well, they haven't taken it away from me yet, Dad."

"Mighty sorry to hear it." He looked him over critically. "In good
shape?"

"Fine."

"Get enough sleep and don't do much sitting up and counting the stars?"

"Hardly. How've you been?"

"Sound as a drum."

"How's the business, father?"

The question brought them perilously near what each had in mind. Perhaps
one word of daring would have broken down the pride of their mutual
obstinacy. Mr. Crocker growled out:

"Business is mighty shaky. Your precious Wall Street and politics have
got every one scared to death. Mighty lucky we'll be if a crash doesn't
hit us."

Had Bojo defended himself, the father might have reopened the question
of his entering the mills; but he didn't, and after a few minutes of
indefinite seeking for an opening Mr. Crocker went off as abruptly as he
had come.

The next morning Bojo, to end this depressing period of inactivity, made
a resolve to accept any opportunity, no matter how humble the salary,
and went down to see Mr. Stoughton to ask him for the chance to start at
the bottom. Skeeter received him with the same cordiality as before, but
access to the father was not to be had that day. In desperation he sat
down and wrote his request. Two days later he received his answer in the
evening mail.

Mr. Thomas Crocker.

Dear Tom:

Please forgive any delay due to press of business. Just at
present there is no vacancy, and frankly I would not advise
you to take the step even if there were. I know you are
young and impatient to be at work again, but I can not but
feel that you would not be happy in making such a radical
move, particularly when at any moment the opportunity you
are looking for may turn up.

Cordially yours,
J. N. STOUGHTON.

Granning came in as he was sitting by the wastebasket and slowly tearing
this letter into minute shreds.

"Hello, young