"I say," he begins, "show me that cheap luncheon place you spoke of,
will you?"

It's more of an order than anything else; but that only makes this
sudden shift of his more amusin'. "Why, sure," says I. "Soured on the
club, have you?"

"Not exactly," says he; "but--well, the fact is, Father must have
forgotten to send a check for last month's bill, and I'm on the
board--posted, you know."

"Then that wa'n't any funny dream of yours, eh," says I, "this club
business? Which is it, Lotos or the Union League?"

"It's my frat club, of course," says Mortimer. "And I don't mind
saying that it's a deucedly expensive place for me to go, even when I
can sign checks for my meals. I'm always being dragged into billiards,
dollar a corner, and that sort of thing. It counts up, and I--I'm
running rather close to the wind just now."

"What! And you gettin' twelve?" says I. "Why, say, some supports
fam'lies on that. Takes managin', though. But I'll steer you round to
Max's, where for a quarter you can----"

"A quarter!" breaks in Mortimer. "But--but that's more than I have
left."

"And this only Wednesday!" says I. "Gee! but you have been goin' the
pace, ain't you? What is the sum total of the reserve, anyway?"