“Bill came into my shop one day an’ looked as if he hadn’t a friend in the world.  He wanted to borrow some money.

“‘Money!’ I says.  ‘What makes ye think I’ve got money?’

“‘Because ye ain’t got any automobile,’ he says, laughin’.

“‘No,’ I says.  ‘You bought one, an’ that was all I could afford,’

“It never touched him.  He went on as dry as a duck in a shower.  ‘You’re one o’ the few sensible men in this village.  You live within yer means, an’ you ought to have money if ye ain’t.’

“‘I’ve got a little, but I don’t see why you should have it,’ I says.  ‘You want me to do all the savin’ for both of us.’

“‘It costs so much to live I can’t save a cent,’ he says.  ’You know I’ve got a boy in college, an’ it costs fearful.  I told my boy the other day how I worked my way through school an’ lived on a dollar a week in a little room an’ did my own washin’.  He says to me, “Well, Governor, you forget that I have a social position to maintain."’

“‘He’s right,’ I says.  ’You can’t expect him to belong to the varsity crew an’ the Dickey an’ the Hasty-Puddin’ Club an’ dress an’ behave like the son of an ordinary grocer in Pointview, Connecticut.  Ye can’t live on nuts an’ raisins an’ be decent in such a position.  Looks to me as if it would require the combined incomes o’ the grocer an’ his lawyer to maintain it.  His position is likely to be hard on your disposition.  He’s tryin’ to keep up with Lizzie—­that’s what’s the matter,’

“For a moment Bill looked like a lost dog.  I told him how Grant an’ Thomas stood on a hilltop one day an’ saw their men bein’ mowed down like grass, an’ by-an’-by Thomas says to Grant, ’Wal, General, we’ll have to move back a little; it’s too hot for the boys here.’

“‘I’m afraid your boy’s position is kind of uncomf’table,’ I says.

“‘I’ll win out,’ he says.  ‘My boy will marry an’ settle down in a year or so, then he’ll begin to help me.’

“‘But you may be killed off before then,’ I says.

“’If my friends ‘ll stand by me I’ll pull through,’ says he.

“‘But your friends have their own families to stand by,’ I says.

“‘Look here, Mr. Potter,’ says he.  ’You’ve no such expense as I have.  You’re able to help me, an’ you ought to.  I’ve got a note comin’ due tomorrow an’ no money to pay it with.’

“‘Renew it an’ then retrench,’ I says.  ‘Cut down your expenses an’ your prices.’

“‘Can’t,’ says he.  ’It costs too much to live.  What ‘ll I do ?’

“‘You ought to die,’ I says, very mad.

“‘I can’t,’ says he.

“‘Why not?’

“‘It costs so much to die,’ he says.  ‘Why, it takes a thousan’ dollars to give a man a decent funeral these days.’

“‘Wal,’ I says, ’a man that can’t afford either to live or die excites my sympathy an’ my caution.  You’ve taxed the community for yer luxuries, an’ now ye want to tax me for yer notes.  It’s unjust discrimination.  It gives me a kind of a lonesome feelin’.  You tell your boy Dan to come an’ see me.  He needs advice more than you need money, an’ I’ve got a full line of it.’