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 would be strictly a loan and you can pay me back when"

"That's fine of you, Spence," I cut him off. "And I'll never forget it, don't think I will. But—I—I got some money from—from my grandfather in Kansas City the other day, and I'm sitting pretty as far as jack is concerned."

Spence gives me a odd look, but I don't flick a muscle.

"Oh, did you?" he says. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. But if you—er—if your grandfather ever refuses you, let me know. See you to-night!"

I don't get a nickel from my grandfather in Kansas City. Iain't got no grandfather. Both of 'em is dead, and I don't think either of 'em died and went to Kansas City. But I don't want to begin borrowing from Spence or nobody else. I don't want nothing gave to me; all I wanted was a chance to make it myself.

Spence has hardly went out when Lem Garfield, head and only clerk in The Elite Haberdashery, comes in for his daily dissipation. Lem's a incurable frosted-chocolate addict, and he admits I compose a wicked soda. I generally put everything in his drink but the day's receipts, and only charge him a thin dime, because, if they's one fellow I felt sorry for, it's Lem Garfield.

Lem was in the same boat I was—he's hungry for education too. The only difference between me and Lem was that disappointment had Lem licked. He'd quit trying. I'll quit trying when I'm dead!

Lem was born in Drew City and at twenty-three he's as gloomy and hard boiled as a guy of eighty. He's