As Henry had been, at the age of six, one of her boys, and during the past two years had shared with her the reporting work of the _Voice_, it was not unnatural that she should stop him as he was hurrying, airily twirling his thin bamboo stick, over to Stanley's restaurant. It was noontime. Simpson Street was quiet. They walked along past Donovan's drug store and Jackson's book store (formerly B. F. Jones's) and turned the corner. Here, in front of an unfrequented photographer's studio, Miss Dittenhoefer stated her problem. She looked, though her trim little person was erect as always, rather beaten down. 'Mr Boice has taken half my work, Henry--“Church Doings” and “Society.” He sent me a note. I gather that you're to do it.' 'Me?' Henry spoke in honest amazement. 'Doubtless. He's cutting down expenses. I mind, of course, after all these years. I've worked very hard. And on the money side, I shall mind a little.' 'You don't mean----' 'Oh, yes. Half the former wage. And they don't pension old teachers in Sunbury. But this is what I want to tell you----' 'Oh, but Miss Dittenhoefer, I don't----' 'Never mind, Henry; it's done. Of course I shouldn't have said as much as this. Though perhaps I had to say it to somebody. Forget what you can of it. But now--I wanted to give you this list. There's a good lot of society for summer. Never knew the old town to be so gay. Two or three things in South Sunbury that are important. They feel that we've been slighting them down there this year. I've noted everything down. And I've written the church societies, asking them to send announcements direct to the office after this.' 'I don't want your work,' said Henry, colouring up. 'It ain't--isn't--square.' 'But it's business, Henry. Mr. Boice explained that in his note. You'll find I've written everything out in detail--all my plans and the right ladies to see. Good-bye now.' Henry, pained, unable to believe that Miss Dittenhoefer's day could pass so abruptly, walked moodily back to Stanley's and, as usual, bolted his lunch. The unkindness to Miss Dittenhoefer directly affected himself. It meant still more of the routine desk-work and more running around town. Then, slowly, as he sat there staring at the pink mosquito-bar that was gathered round the chandelier, his eyes filled. It was hard to believe that even Mr Boice could do a thing like that to Miss Dittenhoefer. Coolly cutting her pay in half! It seemed to Henry wanton cruelty. It suggested to his sensitive mind other tales of cruelty--tales of the boys who had gone into Chicago wholesale houses for their training and had found their fresh young dream-ideals harshly used in the desperate struggle of business.