“Wait till Mr. Flint gets home.”

“I hope you won’t leave us.”

“No, I think not.”

“Of course you will miss your salary.  I wish I could lend you some money, but I have not heard from the article I sent to the Century.  If accepted, they will send me a large check.”

“Thank you, Mr. Warren.  I shall be able to get along for the present.”

Soon Sam Perkins arrived, with a new and gorgeous necktie.

“Glad to see you, Andy,” he said.  “Won’t you go with me to the Star Theater this evening?”

“I can’t, Sam; I have no money to spare.”

“I thought you got a good salary?”

“Just at present I have none at all.  I have been discharged.”

“I am sorry for that.  I wish there was a vacancy in our place; I should like to get you in there.”

“Thank you.  That is quite friendly.”

Andy was about to go down to supper when Eva, the servant, came upstairs.

“There’s a messenger boy downstairs wants to see you, Mr. Grant,” she said.

In some surprise Andy went downstairs to see the messenger.  He was a short boy of fourteen, Tom Keegan by name.

“I have a letter for Andrew Grant,” he said.

“Give it to me; I am Andrew Grant.  Here’s a dime.”

“Thank you,” said the boy in a tone of satisfaction, for his weekly income was small.

Andy opened the letter.  It was written on fashionable note paper.  At the top of the paper was a monogram formed of the letters H and M.

Here is the letter: 

“MY DEAR MR. GRANT:  I shall be glad to have you take dinner with me at seven o’clock.  I should have given you earlier notice, but supposed you would not be back from the store till six o’clock.  You will meet my son Roy, who is a year or two younger than yourself, and my brother, John Crawford.  Both will be glad to see you.  Yours sincerely,

    “HENRIETTA MASON.”

“What is it, Andy?” asked Sam.

“You can read the note.”

“By George, Andy, you are getting into fashionable society!  Couldn’t you take me along, too?”

“I am afraid I am not well enough acquainted to take such a liberty.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you.  I’ll lend you my best necktie.”

Sam produced a gorgeous red tie, which he held up admiringly.

“Thank you, Sam,” said Andy, “but I think that won’t suit me as well as you.”

“What are you going to wear?”

Andy took from the bureau drawer a plain black tie.

“That!” exclaimed Sam, disgusted.  “That is awfully plain.”

“It suits my taste.”

“Excuse me, Andy, but I don’t think you’ve got any taste.”

Andy laughed good-naturedly.

“Certainly my taste differs from yours,” he said.

“I suppose you’ll have a fine layout.  I’d like to go to a fashionable dinner myself.”