"And Louise told me you'd taken her up to the drug store." Sid shrugged his shoulders. "Guess I've a right to. What have you got to say about it?" "Well," said John slowly, "She's my girl--" Sid sneered. "And we're going to get married on the money from the paper route when I grow up and--" "Pooh!" Sid laughed unpleasantly. "Go ahead and save your money. I don't care. I'm spending mine--on her--and you can't stop me either." Money, money, money! All he was hearing these days was about spending, not saving it, and Sid's words, as had his lady's, riled him not a little. "I'm going to take her out, too," he shot back. "Won't be a cheap thing like sodas, either. We're going to the theater, we are, and then she'll promise not to speak to you any more. If she won't, I'll punch your face in, first time I catch you." "Theater!" said Sid, so impressed that the concluding threat passed unheeded. "Going to buy the tickets, this afternoon," John boasted. "Main floor seats at the 'Home'--_seventy-five cents each!_ Don't you wish you were going?" Sid's skates slipped from his shoulder into the snow. He picked them up and looked at John uncertainly. "That'll cost a lot of money, won't it?" he asked. "Most two dollars," magnificently. "Let's take her together, then. I'll pay half the carfare and the seats." John thought a moment. The plan possessed certain advantages. He would be able to observe how Louise acted with Sid, for one; and if he didn't consent, that persistent rival would take her later, anyway, which would be a thousand times worse. Besides, the prospect of two hard-earned dollars being frittered away for an evening's entertainment had been far from pleasing. "The tickets are for a week from Saturday," he said slowly. "Want me to get you one?" Sid nodded and dug into his pocket for a handful of Christmas change. He passed over a dollar and twelve cents to John, and left for the lagoon. Half a dozen times as the street car bounced westward over the uneven track, John decided to tell Sid that, after all, the entertainment was for but two. He would probably spoil all the fun, anyway, and then the evening would be a total failure. He was still undecided when he stepped up to the tawdry box office with its photographs of local theatrical stars. "How many?" asked the man at the little window. John drew out a coin from his pocket. Heads, Sid joined them; tails, he should be Louise's sole escort. Heads it was. The fates had willed it; let the outcome be for good or ill. When he told of the arrangement at the family supper table, that evening, his parents choked. "I suppose," said Mr. Fletcher, his voice still shaking with laughter, "that you'll sit, one on each side of the lady, and glare because she took the last piece of candy from the other fellow's box."