Bartlett’s eyes gleamed and he shook the Watermelon’s hand with renewed pleasure. "Youth," said he oratorically, "is hard to beat, General, but we aren’t deaduns yet. I have had an occasional try at the Street, myself, Mr. Batchelor. You may have heard of me." "Oh, yes," said the Watermelon absent-mindedly, thinking of the girl with the single dimple and the turned-up nose. "Father took me, once," said Billy. "It was terrible. Are you a broker, Mr. Batchelor?" "Haven’t you read yesterday’s papers, Billy?" exclaimed Henrietta. "I never read the papers," admitted Billy, with a charming smile. "Just the front page head-lines, sometimes." "He was there," laughed the general. "In inch-high print. He broke the cotton ring, my dear." The general’s tone was full of reflected glory as the host of the great man. "Oh," cried Billy, "that’s where father lost so much. He told me this morning, just as we left the house—" Bartlett glanced sharply at the Watermelon and interrupted Billy with a laugh. "You get everything wrong, my dear," said he, tweaking her ear. "I said a good deal of money had been lost—" "But, papa," protested Billy, "you said—" "Come to dinner, everybody, please," interrupted Henrietta, in response to an appealing glance from Bartlett. "I am starving whether you others are or not." "We had better," cried the general jocularly, "or this young man will become a bear instead of a bull." He laid his hand affectionately on the Watermelon’s shoulder and walked down the hall with it resting there. *CHAPTER V* *A PLAN AND A TELEGRAM* The big, cool dining-room, with tall palms and plants, snowy tables and gleaming silver, the crowd of well-dressed people, the talk and laughter, and the obsequious, hurrying waiters, was not a new experience to the Watermelon. For one short, painful week, he had essayed to be a waiter and had finally seen the folly of his ways and given it up after he had broken more china than his wages, which were withheld, could cover. His complete indifference as to what people thought of him made him entirely at his ease, while his scattered wits were coming back with a rush and his colossal self-assurance was growing every moment he was in the society of the charming Billy. "I was a hash-slinger once," said he, gazing at her across the table. Her small nose wrinkled with pleasure and the single dimple flashed forth and was gone. "That’s right," said the general, who grew more fond of his guest with every passing remark. "Don’t be ashamed of the past just because you have money now." "You blacked boots, too, I believe?" questioned Bartlett, the results of that unfortunate cotton deal he had participated in still rankling. "Quite interesting." The Watermelon had ears only for Billy. She spoke and it was as if the others had been silent. "Was it fun?" she asked.