is Caruthers, my Aunt Selina Caruthers, and the money comes from
buttons."

"Oh!" feebly.

"It's an old business," he went on, with something of proprietary
pride. "My grandfather founded it in 1775. Made buttons for the
Continental Army."

"Oh, yes," I said. "They melted the buttons to make bullets,
didn't they? Or they melted bullets to make buttons? Which was
it?"

But again he interrupted.

"It's like this," he went on hurriedly. "Aunt Selina believes in
me. She likes pictures, and she wanted me to paint, if I could.
I'd have given up long ago--oh, I know what you think of my
work--but for Aunt Selina. She has encouraged me, and she's done
more than that; she's paid the bills."

"Dear Aunt Selina," I breathed.

"When I got married," Jim persisted, "Aunt Selina doubled my
allowance. I always expected to sell something, and begin to make
money, and in the meantime what she advanced I considered as a
loan." He was eyeing me defiantly, but I was growing serious. It
was evident from the preamble that something was coming.

"To understand, Kit," he went on dubiously, "you would have to