"Maybe he thought he'd take Hal's pride down and make him come crawling to him on his knees to get Louise back into the mills. It is a rotten time to be out of work. Louise has tried and tried to get another job and can't land a thing. But whether she does or not, her brother isn't going crawling to Corcoran. He's not afraid of the old tyrant. Hal Harling isn't afraid of anything. Why, only the other day he tore into the street and saved a little runaway chap from being mashed to jelly under a lot of automobiles. The baby was chasing a dog and got into the middle of High Street before he realized it. He would certainly have been killed had it not been for Hal." "Whose baby was it?" questioned the man beside him in an odd voice. "Oh, I don't know. We didn't wait to see. Hal was anxious to get out of the crowd and we were late home anyway. So Harling gave the kid to the nursemaid and lit out." There was a muffled: "I see!" from his listener. "And where do you come in in all this tangle?" queried the stranger presently. "I? Why, you see Hal Harling is my----" a sudden reserve fell upon the lad. It was impossible to explain to anybody just what Hal Harling was to him. "I chase round with the Harlings a lot," explained he. "They are almost like my own family." "Oh, so that's it!" "I'd decided just now to hunt for a job and see if I couldn't make good the money Louise is missing. She can't seem to find a darn thing to do, poor kid. She's been out of work over a week now and they've got to have money or Mrs. Harling and Grandfather Harling will starve to death. Of course I'm not so much," continued Carl modestly. "But I'm willing to work and I'm sure I could earn something." The owner of the velvet-wheeled car did not speak at once. Then he remarked abruptly: "You don't go to school to-morrow, do you?" "Saturday? Not on your--no, sir." "Then you'd be free to come to my office to-morrow morning and see me, wouldn't you?" "Do you think you could give me a job? Sure I'd come!" ejaculated Carl with zest. "Good! Come to the Berwick building, Number 197 Dalby Street, to-morrow at ten o'clock. Give your name and--by the by, what is your name?" "Carl McGregor, sir." "A fine old Scotch name. Well, you write it on a card or a piece of paper and give it to the man you will find at the door. Maybe I shall be able to do something for you." The car rolled up to the curb and stopped. "You've been mighty kind, sir," said Carl, as he leaped out. "You've brought me nearly home." "Oh, I was going this way anyway," smiled the man in the fur coat. "You won't have far to walk now, will you?" "Only a block. I'll be home in a jiffy." "You won't forget about to-morrow." "_Forget!_" Laughing at something that evidently amused him very much the stranger started his engine.