"There were many private panics in Pointview. It was my privilege to observe, under calm exteriors, a raging fever of excitement--characters going bankrupt, collectors wandering in a fruitless quest. One little rill that flowed into the swift river of national trouble issued from the bosom of my clerk, Mr. 'Cub' Sayles. It had been one of the most placid bosoms in Pointview. Now it was in the midst of what I have since referred to as the 'Violet and Supper Panic of 1907.' "Cub was a quiet, hard-working, serious-minded boy whose mother moved in the higher circles of Boston. He had a low, pleasant voice, a touch of Harry's dialect, and a sad face. He had asked for a higher salary, and I had asked for information. "'You see every time I go to call on my girl I have to take a bunch of violets or a two-pound box of candy,' he said. 'Then if we go to the theater her chaperon has to be with us--don't you know? She's a stout lady who complains of faintness before the play ends, and I have to ask them out to supper. Then I am always greatly alarmed, for you never can tell what will happen, sir, with two ladies at supper and only twenty dollars in your pocket, and both ladies fond of game and crab-meat. It's really very trying. I sit and tremble as I watch them, and go home with only a feeble remnant of my salary, and next day I have to pawn my diamond ring.' "'All that isn't honest,' I said. 'You're getting her favor under false pretenses. You're trying to make her believe that you are a sort of aristocrat with lots of money. Why don't you tell her the truth--that you can't afford violets, that the two-pound box is a burden that is breaking your back, and that every theater-supper sends you to the pawnbroker's?' "'I can't--she would throw me over,' he explained. 'The girls expect those things. They like to show and talk about them--don't you know? It's the fashion. Our best young men do it, sir.' "'Well, if you are willing to give up your honor for a lady's smile you won't do for me,' I said. 'You must not only tell the truth, but live it. You must be just what you are--a poor boy working for twenty dollars a week. If the girl doesn't like it she's unfit to associate with honest men. If you don't like it I don't like you.' "Perspiration had begun to dampen the brow of Cub. "'I--I hadn't seen it in that light, sir,' he said. 'But what am I to do, sir? I am heavily indebted to my tailor.' "'What! Haven't you paid for those lovely garments?' "'I had them charged, sir,' Cub sadly answered. 'My mother sent me a hundred dollars to pay for them, but I loaned it to Roger Daniels. I should be much obliged, sir, if you would collect it for me.'