not a dollar in his pocket, and no way to earn one.

He went up to her, courteously took her hand when she
held it out, blushing and dimpling, bowed to her aunt,
saying that he had merely walked over to put her into her
carriage, and, having shut the door, looked after
them, hat in hand, smiling when she glanced shyly back at
him.

Then he laughed loudly. If he had the salary that she
paid her negro driver he would be lucky! And he had
meant to marry her. He laughed again and took his way
homeward.


CHAPTER XIX

His mother was waiting to give George his breakfast.
Whether he chose to lie in bed until noon or to walk
twenty miles at dawn, she smiled a joyful approval. But
neither the crisp toast, nor the fried chicken, nor any
of her funny stories, would penetrate the blackness of
his gloom.

"Oh, by the way!" she said; "here is a letter that came
by last night's mail. I forgot to give it to you."

He glanced at the envelope. "Great Heavens! It is life
and death to me, and you forget it to tell Jack's pert
sayings!" He read the letter and threw it down.