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 stood up and began to clear the table. After a moment the boy left his chair to help. The man's argument had stumped him; yet, with something of his old doggedness, he clung to his original belief. Hadn't his father praised Sam? Hadn't the clerk been held up to him as a model after whom it might be well to pattern?

The Butterfly Man put the last dish away. "What does your father think of this?"

"I haven't told him yet."

"Why not; afraid?"

"N . . . no." Bert made a vague gesture with his hands. "You know how fathers are."

The man made no comment. "You've got to tell him."

"I will."

"When?"

"Soon."

"That won't do, old man. You've got to tell him to-day."

Bert looked up quickly. "Why?"

"Well . . . Let's look at it this way: Your father thinks a lot of this Sam chap. He's spent time to train him. Sam fills a niche in the store, takes a certain amount of work on his shoulders and makes himself valuable. When he leaves. . . ."

"Leaves?" Bert echoed.

"Why, certainly. When this new business starts he's got to leave your father. Your father can't