look on his face, and his hands were jammed deep in his trousers
pockets.

His sister, Caroline, sat opposite to him, also looking out at the
December landscape. She, too, was discontented and unhappy, though she
tried not to show it.

"Why don't you say something," snapped Stephen, after a moment of
silence. "ISN'T it a box of a place? Now come."

"Yes," replied the young lady, without looking at her brother. "Yes,
Steve, I suppose it is. But you must remember that we must make the
best of it. I always wondered how people could live in apartments. Now I
suppose I shall have to find out."

"Well, I maintain that we don't have to. We aren't paupers, even though
father wasn't so well fixed as everyone thought. With management and
care, we could have stayed in the old house, I believe, and kept up
appearances, at least. What's the use of advertising that we're broke?"

"But, Steve, you know Mr. Graves said--"

"Oh, yes, I know. You swallowed every word Graves said, Caro, as if
he was the whole book of Proverbs. By George, _I_ don't; I'm from
Missouri."

Mr. Warren, being in the Sophomore class at Yale, was of the age when
one is constitutionally "from Missouri." Probably King Solomon, at
sixty, had doubts concerning the scope and depth of his wisdom; at
eighteen he would have admitted its all-embracing infallibility without