It was an heroic resolution, and shame that hunger should so maltreat it. When twelve o'clock struck and Alban remembered how poor a breakfast he had made, he did not think it necessary to abandon any of his old habits, at least not immediately; and he went, as he usually had done, to the shabby dining-room in Union Street where he and Lois had taken their dinners together for many a month past. Boriskoff's daughter was already at table and waiting for him when he entered; he thought that she was unusually pale and that her expectancy was not that of a common occasion. Was it possible that she also had news to tell him--news as momentous as his own? Alban feared to ask her, and hanging his cap on a peg above their table without a word, he sat down and began to study the greasy menu. "What's the luck, Alb, dear--why do you look like that?" Little Lois asked the question, struck by his odd manner and appearance. He answered her with surprising candor--for the sudden determination came to him that he must tell Lois. "No luck at all, Lois." "Why, you don't mean--?" "I do, and that's straight. There is no further need of my services--" "You've got the sack?" "The whole of it, Lois--and now I'm selling it cheap." The girl laughed aloud, but there were tears in her eyes while she did so. What a day for them both. She was angry almost with him for telling her. "Why, if father ain't a-gettin' on the prophet line--he said you would, Alb. So help me rummy, I was that angry with him I couldn't hear myself speak. And now it's all come true. Why, Alb, dear--and I wanted to tell you--" She could not finish the sentence for a sob that almost choked her. The regular customers of the room had turned to stare at the sound of such unwonted hilarity. Dinner was far too serious a business for most of them that laughter should serve it. "What was your father saying, Lois?" "That you were going away, dear, and that the sooner I gave up thinking about you the fatter I should be." "How did he know what was going to happen?" "Ask me another and don't pay the bill. He's been as queer as white rabbits since yesterday--didn't go to work this morning, but sat all day over a letter he's received. I shall be frightened of father just now. I do really believe he's getting a bit balmy on the crumpet." "Still talking about the man who stole the furnace?"