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"Ma was wonderin' yesterday what you lived on. Haven't you got any money, Mr. Smith?"

"Oh, yes, Benny, I've got money enough—to live on." Mr. Smith spoke promptly, and with confidence this time.

"Oh, that's nice. You're glad, then, ain't you? Ma says we haven't—got enough ter live on, I mean; but pa says we have, if we didn't try ter live like everybody else lives what's got more."

Mr. Smith bit his lip, and looked down a little apprehensively at the small boy at his side.

"I—I'm not sure, Benny, but I shall have to say little boys should be seen and not—" He stopped abruptly. Benny, with a stentorian shout, had run ahead to a gate before a small white cottage. On the cozy, vine-shaded porch sat a white-haired old man leaning forward on his cane.

"Hi, there, Grandpa Duff, I've brought somebody ter see ye!" The gate was open now, and Benny was halfway up the short walk. "It's Mr. Smith. Come in, Mr. Smith. Here's grandpa right here."

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With a pleasant smile Mr. Smith doffed his hat and came forward.

"Thank you, Benny. How do you do, Mr. Duff?"

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The man on the porch looked up sharply from beneath heavy brows.

"Humph! Your name's Smith, is it?"

"That's what they call me." The corners of Mr. Smith's mouth twitched a little.

"Humph! Yes, I've heard of you."

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"You flatter me!" Mr. Smith, on the topmost step, hesitated. "Is your—er—daughter in, Mr. Duff?" He was still smiling cheerfully.

Mr. Duff was not smiling. His somewhat unfriendly gaze was still bent upon the newcomer.