But suddenly Pilkins came upon a youth sitting brave and, as
if conflicting with summer sultriness, coatless, his white
shirt-sleeves conspicuous in the light from the globe of an
electric. Close to his side was a girl, smiling, dreamy, happy.
Around her shoulders was, palpably, the missing coat of the
cold-defying youth. It appeared to be a modern panorama of the Babes
in the Wood, revised and brought up to date, with the exception that
the robins hadn't turned up yet with the protecting leaves.

With delight the money-caliphs view a situation that they think is
relievable while you wait.

Pilkins sat on the bench, one seat removed from the youth. He
glanced cautiously and saw (as men do see; and women--oh! never can)
that they were of the same order.

Pilkins leaned over after a short time and spoke to the youth,
who answered smilingly, and courteously. From general topics the
conversation concentrated to the bed-rock of grim personalities.
But Pilkins did it as delicately and heartily as any caliph could
have done. And when it came to the point, the youth turned to him,
soft-voiced and with his undiminished smile.

"I don't want to seem unappreciative, old man," he said, with a
youth's somewhat too-early spontaneity of address, "but, you see, I
can't accept anything from a stranger. I know you're all right, and
I'm tremendously obliged, but I couldn't think of borrowing from
anybody. You see, I'm Marcus Clayton--the Claytons of Roanoke
County, Virginia, you know. The young lady is Miss Eva Bedford--I