that a borrowed five-dollar bill could so reshape a relationship?  Well, he would pay him back once he received his monthly salary, and get over with the obligation.  His monthly salary?...  Suddenly it broke over him that he had received the last full month’s salary that he would ever get from Ford, Wetherbee & Co.  It was the 20th of February, which meant, roughly, that about two thirds of his one hundred and fifty dollars would be coming to him if he still held to his haughty resolve to take no more than he had earned.  Two thirds of one hundred and fifty, less sixty-odd dollars overdrawn...  He was recalled from his occupation by Brauer’s voice rising above the clatter of carelessly flung crockery and tableware.

“Is it true you’re leaving the first of the month?”

He liked Brauer better for this direct question, although the man’s presumption still rankled.

“I’m leaving to-day,” he announced, dryly, not without a feeling of pride.

“What are you going to do?”

“I haven’t decided...  Perhaps...I don’t know ...  I may become an insurance broker.”

Brauer picked through the mess in his plate for an unshelled shrimp.  “That takes money,” he ventured, dubiously.

“Oh, not a great deal,” Starratt returned, ruffling a trifle.  “Office rent for two or three months before the premiums begin to come in ... a little capital to furnish up a room.  I might even get some one to give me a desk in his office until I got started.  It’s done, you know.”

Brauer neatly extracted a succulent morsel from its scaly sheath.  “Don’t you think it’s better to put up a front?” he inquired.  “If you’ve got a decent office and your own phone and a good stenographer it makes an impression when you’re going after business...  Why don’t you go in with somebody?...  There ought to be plenty of fellows ready to put up their money against your time.”

“Who, for instance?” escaped Starratt, involuntarily.

Brauer shoved his plate of husked shrimps to one side.  “Take me.  I’ve saved up quite a bit, and...”

The waiter broke in upon them with the oysters.

Starratt knitted his brows.  “Well, why not?” was his mental calculation.

Brauer ordered two more pints of beer.

Starratt had leaned at first toward keeping his business venture a secret from Helen.  But in the end a boyish eagerness to sun himself in the warmth of her surprise unlocked his reserve.

“I’ve quit Ford-Wetherbee,” he said, quietly, that night, as she was seating herself after bringing on the dessert.

He had never seen such a startled look flash across her face.

“What!  Did you have trouble?”

He decided swiftly not to give her the details.  He didn’t want her to think that any outside influence had pushed him into action.

“Oh no!...” he drawled, lightly.  “I’ve been thinking of leaving for some time.  Working for another person doesn’t get you anywhere.”