“It’ll be a long time before you’ll ever pay your social way,” said Miss Hemingway cruelly.  “In the meanwhile you’re a social pauper, living on crusts, and the most becoming thing you can do is to sit very silent and grateful and self-effacing.”

“Yep,” said Coal Oil Johnny, pretending to gulp down a manly emotion.  “Yep, kind lady, and God bless your purty face, and if a lifetime of humble devotion and—­”

“We all three have to do something for the St. John’s Home for Incurable Children,” Interrupted Dolly, “and the question is, what?”

“Simplest thing out,” said Mr. Bassity, feeling for his pocketbook.

“That’s just what we’re not going to do,” continued Dolly.  “It’s horrid to go around dunning people for subscriptions, and being ten dollars nice to them for three dollars and fifty cents cash.  We’re all pledged to earn some money—­really, truly earn it—­and every one of us is going to get out and hustle, and, of course, we want to arrange it so that none of us three will overlap.  My own idea is dog-thinning!”

“Dog-what?” ejaculated Coal Oil Johnny.

“Most people’s dogs are too fat,” explained Miss Hemingway.  “Most owners are so slack and good-natured that, though they know they are their own dogs’ worst enemies, they weakly go on pampering them in spite of their better judgment.  I am going to reduce dogs for ten dollars a dog—­not brutally, like a vet, who kicks them into a cellar and leaves them there—­but giving up my whole time to it for a month.  Plain living, lots of exercise, sympathy, tact, and all the comforts of home!  I’ve already got the promise of four, and there’s a Russian Poodle, besides, and a dachshund, who are trying to make up their minds.”

“I wish I could have thought of anything so original,” cried Sattie Felton mournfully.  “It seems so commonplace just to work in papa’s office for two weeks, doesn’t it?”

“’Specially the way you’ll work!” exclaimed Grace Sinclair.

“I am going to help Miss Drayton in the filing department,” said Sattie.  “Put a letter from an F man into an F drawer, and from a G man into a G drawer, and from an H man into an H drawer, and from an I man into an I drawer—­”

“Oh, stop!” cried Dolly Hemingway, warningly.

“And from a J man into a J drawer,” continued Sattie drearily, “and from a K man into—­”

The hurried passing of the chocolate creams in her direction brought about a welcome silence.

“What’s your plan, Miss Sinclair?” Inquired Mr. Bassity.

“Oh, Grace has a snap,” said Sattie in thick, chocolate-cream accents.

“My Despardoux car!” exclaimed Grace.  “It holds five, you know, and I’m going every day to the I.B.&Q. depot and take passengers.  Hang out a little card:  Beautiful Stackport, Two Hours’ Ride for One Dollar; Children Half-Price!”

“No chauffeur?” asked Coal Oil Johnny.

“Of course not.  In that case it would be the money he earned —­not mine!”