His father and mother had both died while he was still a child, and, as if to make up for his long relentlessness, the grandfather had taken the boy to his own house and had cared for him with what he called affection. After college and some months on the continent, however, Monty had preferred to be independent. Old Mr. Brewster had found him a place in the bank, but beyond this and occasional dinners, Monty asked for and received no favors. It was a question of work, and hard work, and small pay. He lived on his salary because he had to, but he did not resent his grandfather's attitude. He was better satisfied to spend his "weakly salary," as he called it, in his own way than to earn more by dining seven nights a week with an old man who had forgotten he was ever young. It was less wearing, he said. Among the "Little Sons of the Rich," birthdays were always occasions for feasting. The table was covered with dishes sent up from the French restaurant in the basement. The chairs were pushed back, cigarettes were lighted, men had their knees crossed. Then Pettingill got up. "Gentlemen," he began, "we are here to celebrate the twenty-fifth birthday of Mr. Montgomery Brewster. I ask you all to join me in drinking to his long life and happiness." "No heel taps!" some one shouted. "Brewster! Brewster!" all called at once. "For he's a jolly good fellow, For he's a jolly good fellow!" The sudden ringing of an electric bell cut off this flow of sentiment, and so unusual was the interruption that the ten members straightened up as if jerked into position by a string. "The police!" some one suggested. All faces were turned toward the door. A waiter stood there, uncertain whether to turn the knob or push the bolt. "Damned nuisance!" said Richard Van Winkle. "I want to hear Brewster's speech." "Speech! Speech!" echoed everywhere. Men settled into their places. "Mr. Montgomery Brewster," Pettingill introduced. Again the bell rang--long and loud. "Reinforcements. I'll bet there's a patrol in the street," remarked Oliver Harrison. "If it's only the police, let them in," said Pettingill. "I thought it was a creditor." The waiter opened the door. "Some one to see Mr. Brewster, sir," he announced. "Is she pretty, waiter?" called McCloud. "He says he is Ellis, from your grandfather's, sir!" "My compliments to Ellis, and ask him to inform my grandfather that it's after banking hours. I'll see him in the morning," said Mr. Brewster, who had reddened under the jests of his companions. "Grandpa doesn't want his Monty to stay out after dark," chuckled Subway Smith. "It was most thoughtful of the old gentleman to have the man call for you with the perambulator," shouted Pettingill above the laughter. "Tell him you've already had your bottle," added McCloud. "Waiter, tell Ellis I'm too busy to be seen," commanded Brewster, and as Ellis went down in the elevator a roar followed him. "Now, for Brewster's speech!--Brewster!" Monty rose.