“Just the same, I think I’ll have a try at it,” said Freddie, sturdily.  “There’s always room at the top, you know,” he added, with a grin.  “I can go to the night-school at the University, and I ought to be able to earn enough to live on, as a clerk or something.  I know how to read and write.”

“That will help, of course,” agreed Mr. Royce.  “But I’m afraid that, right at first, anyway, you can scarcely hope to live in the style to which you have been accustomed.”

Freddie turned on him with fire in his eyes.

“Look here,” he said, “suppose you give me a job.  I’ll do my work and earn my wages—­try me and see.”

There was something in his face that touched me, and I glanced at Mr. Royce.  I saw that his gruffness was merely a mantle to cloak his real feelings; and the result was that Freddie Swain was set to work as a copying-clerk at a salary of fifteen dollars a week.  He applied himself to his work with an energy that surprised me, and I learned that he was taking the night-course at the University, as he had planned.  Finally, one night, I met him as I was turning in to my rooms at the Marathon, and found that he had rented a cubby-hole on the top floor of the building.  After that, I saw him occasionally, and when six months had passed, was forced to acknowledge that he was thoroughly in earnest.  I happened to remark to Mr. Royce one day that Swain seemed to be making good.

“Yes,” my partner agreed; “I didn’t think he had it in him.  He had a rude awakening from his dream of affluence, and it seems to have done him good.”

But, somehow, I had fancied that it was from more than a dream of affluence he had been awakened; and now, as I sat staring at this letter, I began to understand dimly what the other dream had been.

The first thing was to get the letter into his hands, for I was certain that it was a cry for help.  I glanced at my watch and saw that it was nearly half past twelve.  Swain, I knew, would be at lunch, and was not due at the office until one o’clock.  Slipping the letter into my pocket, I turned back to the house, and found Mrs. Hargis standing on the front porch.

“I declare, I thought you was lost, Mr. Lester,” she said.  “I was just going to send William to look for you.  Ain’t you ’most starved?”

“Scarcely starved, Mrs. Hargis,” I said, “but with a very creditable appetite, when you consider that I ate breakfast only two hours ago.”

“Well, come right in,” she said.  “Your lunch is ready.”

“I suppose there’s a telephone somewhere about?” I asked, as I followed her through the hall.

“Yes, sir, in here,” and she opened the door into a little room fitted up as a study.  “It’s here Mr. Godfrey works sometimes.”

“Thank you,” I said, “I’ve got to call up the office.  I won’t be but a minute.”

I found Godfrey’s number stamped on the cover of the telephone book, and then called the office.  As I had guessed, Swain was not yet back from lunch, and I left word for him to call me as soon as he came in.  Then I made my way to the dining-room, where Mrs. Hargis was awaiting me.