"Congratulations!" pipes Alex, shakin' his hand. "Pretty soft!" I says, doin' the same. "I saw you and father in the car here," explains Arnold, "and as you appear to be friends of his, I wonder if you'd come up to the house with us? Father is less liable to make a scene, if there is some one else present. You see, he doesn't know that we're married as yet." Alex suddenly looks interested and nudges me to keep quiet. "I can see the whole thing in a nutshell," he says. "Your father objects to you--oh--now--marryin' an actress, heh?" "No," yawns Arnold. "In this case the traditional is reversed. My father objects to the actress marrying me!" he bows to Margot. "He is personally quite fond of my wife and his objection is based solely upon his own unflattering opinion of me. He declares I'll never be able to support Mrs. Sampson in the manner she is accustomed to living, as her income is something like fifty thousand a year. Father allows me a bare five thousand and he refuses to increase it until I go to work in his office, or something equally as silly. Can you imagine anything more idiotic than that? Dad is worth millions and he expects me to work!" "What an inhuman parent!" says Alex. "What have you got against work?" "My dear fellow," says Arnold, "I don't really know. I don't seem able to get enthusiastic about it--that's all. I wouldn't mind going down to Dad's office and toying with an adding machine or driving nails in packing cases, but I'm sure I'd fall asleep on the job, or something idiotic like that! You might say I lack the urge," he yawns and grins. "I guess I wasn't built to hustle. I haven't got the pep, as we used to say at--" "Listen!" butts in Alex, his eyes beginnin' to glitter. "You was built the same as anybody else, only thinner. I know what's the matter with you--c'mere, I'll show you!" He takes Arnold by the arm and leads him over to the Gaflooey chummy roadster. "D'ye see that automobile there?" he says. "Look at it. What is it--nothin' but a pile of metal and wood! It can't talk, it can't think--but it's got a little button down there in the dash and when you push it, that car will keep on runnin' till the gasoline gives out or it hits a tree! That button's called a self-commencer and that's what you need! Ain't there no buttons up in your head that you can push and get yourself goin'? Is that pile of metal better than you? You can go down now and take a job where you won't get your hands dirty, but if your Dad hadn't been a self-starter fifty years ago, _you'd_ be callin' a Wop foreman 'Boss' to-day and likin' it!" Arnold stops yawnin' and looks interested, where he don't look mad. Margot nods her head and puts her hand on his arm. "Arnold dear," she says, "he's right! It's time you did try to do something, especially now. I don't want to lecture you, dear, but--"