“No, Doro,” Tavia said, suddenly serious. “I have done this thing myself. It is _awful_. Poor old daddy earns his money too hardly for _me_ to throw it away. I should know better. I should have learned caution and economy by this time with you, my dear, as an example ever before me. “Poor mother wastes money because she doesn’t _know_. I have had every advantage of a bright and shining example,” and she pinched Dorothy’s arm as they entered the big store again. “If I have lost my money, I’ve lost it, and that’s the end of it. No new clothes for little Tavia—and serves her right!” she finished, bitterly. Dorothy well knew that this was a tragic happening for her friend. Generously she would have sent for more money, or divided her own store with Tavia. But she knew her chum to be in earnest, and she approved. It was not as though Tavia had nothing to wear. She had a full and complete wardrobe, only it would be no longer up to date. And she would have to curtail much of the fun the girls had looked forward to on this, their first trip, unchaperoned, to the great city. CHAPTER V DOROTHY IS DISTURBED Nothing, of course, had been seen or heard of Tavia’s bag. Mr. Schuman himself had made the investigation, and he came to the girls personally to tell them how extremely sorry he was. But being sorry did not help. “I’m done for!” groaned Tavia, as they returned to their rooms at the hotel just before luncheon. “I can’t even buy a stick of peppermint candy to send to the kids at Dalton.” “How about that five dollars in the bank?” asked Dorothy, suddenly remembering Tavia’s previous and most surprising statement. “And how did you ever come to have a bank account? Is it in the First National of Dalton?” There was a laugh from Tavia, a sudden flash of lingerie and the display of a silk stocking. Then she held out to her chum a neatly folded banknote wrapped in tissue paper. [Illustration: THE TWO GIRLS STEPPED OUT OF THE ELEVATOR AND FOUND GARRY KNAPP WAITING FOR THEM. _Dorothy Dale’s Engagement_ _Page 41_ ] “First National Bank of Womankind,” she cried gaily. “I always carry it there in case of accident—being run over, robbed, or an earthquake. But that five dollars is all I own. Oh, dear! I wish I had stuffed the whole roll into my stocking.” “Don’t, Tavia! it’s not ladylike.” “I don’t care. Pockets are out of style again,” pouted her friend. “And, anyway, you must admit that _this_ was a stroke of genius, for I would otherwise be without a penny.” However, Tavia was too kind-hearted, as well as light-hearted, to allow her loss to cloud the day for Dorothy. She was just as enthusiastic in the afternoon in helping her friend select the goods she wished to buy as though all the “pretties” were for herself. They came home toward dusk, tired enough, and lay down for an hour—“relaxing as per instructions of Lovely Lucy Larriper, the afternoon newspaper statistician,” Tavia said. “Why ‘statistician’?” asked Dorothy, wonderingly.