"No," said the Watermelon. "I would not invest in copper." "Have you any copper?" questioned another with a wink that the great man was caught. "No," repeated the Watermelon with the animation of a hitching-post. "I have no copper. I have never had any, not even pennies," he added, thinking how fast the time was going and he would become a tramp again, with ragged clothes and empty pockets, while Billy would still be—Billy. Every one laughed and the general essayed a joke on his own account. "Greenbacks are a better investment," said he, "and you have invested in them pretty well." "How could you tear yourself away from the Street?" asked one impressionable young thing. "I don’t know," said the Watermelon. "Wall Street is practically my home." And he gazed languidly over their heads into the trees across the road. "Oh, Mr. Batchelor, do you think the tariff will affect the cost of living?" inquired another of his new friends. "So many people claim that it will." Henrietta laughed. "Poor Mr. Batchelor," said she. "You can now realize some of the drawbacks to greatness." "The tariff," said the Watermelon monotonously, "is all right. Take it from me." He glanced again at Billy. The clock in the garage struck two and he hesitated no longer. "My car," he muttered vaguely, and made for the steps. He ran down them and started around the hotel toward the stables. As he passed near the place where Billy stood, he looked up straight into her eyes. "Aren’t you coming to see my car—Billy?" he asked, the odd little name below his breath, so that even she did not hear. "Oh, yes, indeed," said Billy. He caught her hands and swung her down to the lawn beside him. At the garage they did not stop. The Watermelon heard the general panting behind in the distance, but he did not pause. Ungratefully he led the way down a narrow path around the stable, into the deep, cool shade of the woods. It was two. He would give himself until the clock struck three, before he slunk away into the unknown again. *CHAPTER VI* *WHAT IS HEAVEN LIKE* They found a little mossy knoll beside the brook and Billy made herself comfortable against a tree trunk, while the Watermelon sprawled at her feet. "Say," said he, "what do those guys take me for? The editor of the ’Answer to correspondents’ page?" "I bet you know as much," said Billy with artless simplicity. "Sure, I know as much," grinned the Watermelon. "But I’m not paid to tell what I know. It would be starvation rates for mine," he added. Billy laughed. "Didn’t you ever go to school?" she asked. "Yes, I went to school, when father didn’t forget." "Didn’t forget?" "He had eight kids, you see, and he used to say a man couldn’t be responsible for more than six. Two kids, he used to say, were a blessing, four a care, six a burden, and eight an affliction, and no man is responsible for his afflictions."