"I did expect some money," Conniston laughed, his good humor with him
again. "I wired to my father for it. And I just had his answer. There
is nothing doing."

Mr. Crawford lifted his eyebrows. Argyl leaned forward.

"He said," went on Conniston, lightly, "that he would not send me a
dollar. You see, he wants me to do something for myself. And," with a
rueful grin, "I am in debt to you for a dollar to pay for my
message--and I haven't ten cents!"

Mr. Crawford laughed with him. "We won't worry about the dollar just
now, Mr. Conniston. What are you going to do?"

Conniston scratched his head. "I don't know. I--" And then Argyl's
words came back to him, and he surprised himself by saying: "Most men
go to work when they're strapped, don't they? I guess I'll go to
work."

"I don't mean to be too personal, but--are you used to working?"

"I never did a day's work in my life."

"Then what can you do?"

"I don't know. I--you see, I never figured on this. I--I--Do you
happen to know anybody who wants a man?"

A little flicker of a smile shot across Crawford's face.