"Why, yes, Mister; on _my_ piano."

"Oh, you have a piano, have you?"

"There isn't any sound in about half the keys. Granny says the time has
come to rent a better one. She has gone over to the art school to-day to
pose to get the money."

A chill of silence fell between the talkers, the one looking up and the
other looking down. The man's next question was put in a more guarded
tone:

"Does your mother pose as a model?"

"No, Mister, she doesn't pose as a model. She's posing as herself. She
said I must have a teacher. Mister, were _you_ ever poor?"

The man looked the boy over from head to foot.

"Do you think you are poor?" he asked.

The good-natured reply came back in a droll tone:

"Well, Mister, we certainly aren't rich."

"Let us see," objected the man, as though this were a point which had
better not be yielded, and he began with a voice of one reckoning up
items: "Two feet, each cheap at, say, five millions. Two hands--five
millions apiece for hands. At least ten millions for each eye. About
the same for the ears. Certainly twenty millions for your teeth. Forty