"Yes?" said Archie doubtfully. "Well, you know, I heard him
interviewing that chappie behind the desk this morning, who works
like the dickens from early morn to dewy eve, on the subject of a
mistake in his figures; and, if he loved him, he dissembled it all
right. Of course, I admit that so far I haven't been one of the
toilers, but the dashed difficult thing is to know how to start. I'm
nosing round, but the openings for a bright young man seem so
scarce."

"Well, keep on trying. I feel sure that, if you could only find
something to do, it doesn't matter what, father would be quite
different."

It was possibly the dazzling prospect of making Mr. Brewster quite
different that stimulated Archie. He was strongly of the opinion
that any change in his father-in-law must inevitably be for the
better. A chance meeting with James B. Wheeler, the artist, at the
Pen-and-Ink Club seemed to open the way.

To a visitor to New York who has the ability to make himself liked
it almost appears as though the leading industry in that city was
the issuing of two-weeks' invitation-cards to clubs. Archie since
his arrival had been showered with these pleasant evidences of his
popularity; and he was now an honorary member of so many clubs of
various kinds that he had not time to go to them all. There were the
fashionable clubs along Fifth Avenue to which his friend Reggie van
Tuyl, son of his Florida hostess, had introduced him. There were the
businessmen's clubs of which he was made free by more solid
citizens. And, best of all, there were the Lambs', the Players', the
Friars', the Coffee-House, the Pen-and-Ink,--and the other resorts