"Gee! I should say so—though I can't say I'm stuck on the brand,

myself. But, as for this money business, do you know? I'm as bad as

Flo. I can't sense it yet—that it's true. Gosh! Look at Hattie, now.

Ain't she swingin' the style to-night?"

"She certainly is looking handsome and very happy."

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"Well, she ought to. I believe in lookin' happy. I believe in takin' some comfort as you go along—not that I've taken much, in times past. But I'm goin' to now."

"Good! I'm glad to hear it."

"Well, I AM. Why, man, I'm just like a potato-top grown in a cellar, and I'm comin' out and get some sunshine. And Mellicent is, too. Poor child! SHE'S been a potato-top in a cellar all right. But now—Have you seen her to-night?"

"I have—and a very charming sight she was," smiled Mr. Smith.

"Ain't she, now?" The father beamed proudly. "Well, she's goin' to be that right along now. She's GOIN' where she wants to go, and DO what she wants to do; and she's goin' to have all the fancy fluma-diddles to wear she wants."

"Good! I'm glad to hear that, too," laughed Mr. Smith.

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"Well, she is. This savin' an' savin' is all very well, of course, when you have to. But I've saved all my life and, by jingo, I'm goin' to spend now! You see if I don't."

"I hope you will."

"Thank you. I'm glad to have one on my side, anyhow. I only wish—You couldn't talk my wife 'round to your way of thinkin', could you?" he shrugged, with a whimsical smile. "My wife's eaten sour cream to save the sweet all her life, an' she hain't learned yet that if she'd eat the sweet to begin with she wouldn't have no sour cream—'twouldn't have time to get sour. An' there's apples, too. She eats the specked ones always; so she don't never eat anything but the worst there is. An' she says they're the meanest apples she ever saw. Now I tell her if she'll only pick out the best there is every time, as I do she'll not only enjoy every apple she eats, but she'll think they're the nicest apples that ever grew. Funny, ain't it? Here I am havin' to urge my wife to spend money, while my sister-in-law here—Talk about ducks takin' to the water! That ain't no name for the way she sails into Jim's little pile."

Mr. Smith laughed.

"By the way, where is Mr. Jim?" he asked.

The other shook his head.

"Hain't seen him—but I can guess where he is, pretty well. You go down that hall and turn to your left. In a little room at the end you'll find him. That's his den. He told Hattie 'twas the only room in the house he'd ask for, but he wanted to fix it up himself. Hattie, she wanted to buy all sorts of truck and fix it up with cushions and curtains and Japanese gimcracks like she see a den in a book, and make a showplace of it. But Jim held out and had his way. There ain't nothin' in it but books and chairs and a couch and a big table; and they're all old—except the books—so Hattie don't show it much, when she's showin' off the house. You'll find him there all right. You see if you don't. Jim always would rather read than eat, and he hates shindigs of this sort a little worse 'n I do." "All right. I'll look him up," nodded Mr. Smith, as he turned away.