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 day when coffee and sandwiches netted only ninety cents. Bert became silent and glum. At home he had very little to say. Twice his father and mother, sitting in the dining room, heard him pacing the floor of his bedroom overhead.

"Things are going bad with him," Mrs. Quinby said with an ache of sympathy in her voice.

"He brought it on himself," said the man.

"Oh!" she said in reproach.

The man got up from his chair and his worried footsteps echoed those of his son. "Oh, I know! I know! I'd give a hundred dollars this minute if I could get him out of it. Of course things are going the wrong way; they couldn't go any other way. He's carrying too big a load for a boy. It was a crack-brained scheme to start with. He's got to learn his lesson. If I jumped into this thing and got him off with a whole skin, he'd forget the experience in a year. He'd always have a feeling in the back of his head that no matter how big a fool he made of himself, he could always count on me to get him out. He's got to come to me and ask for help. He's got to admit that he was wrong. When he does that I'll wind up that business of his and save him every dollar I can. But he's got to swallow his medicine and admit that he was wrong."

Mrs. Quinby had a mental picture of her son's sullen eyes and stubborn chin. "He's not the kind to admit failure," she sighed. She did not know