“Sure, cash money! I got it in my pocket the cash money. I could show it to you.” He did. Saint Harvey looked at the crisp, new bills and at the pitcher of water at his elbow and at the lump of bread beside the pitcher. It was the hour for his frugal midday meal. From somewhere came the odor of ham frying. “Please, Misder Redink!” urged Moses Shuder meekly, and from his pocket he took--with exquisite care--a large, costly-looking cigar. Saint Harvey reached for the cigar. “I 'll go you, dod-baste the dod-basted luck!” he exclaimed, and with the other hand he reached for the money. From the shed at the rear of the yard came the sharp, angry yelps of two of Saint Harvey's stray dogs beginning hostilities. Saint Harvey eased himself carefully out of his chair. “You wait,” he said to Shuder. Three minutes later three stray dogs, their tails trailing their legs, their eyes looking backward, dashed through the gate of the junkyard and down the street. Three pieces of old iron hurtled through the air after them. “There!” puffed the Little Brother to Stray Dogs; “that's what I think of you, you worthless curs!”--and then he added, “Dod-baste you!” The next morning, which was the morning of the anniversary of the day of our glorious independence, Lem, finishing the task of the breakfast dishes, had the final and crowning indignity thrust upon him. He was sore, anyway, because Miss Sue had forbidden firecrackers and other noise-makers, and now she told him to go upstairs and make his own bed. “You're old enough, and you know enough, to make it,” she said, “and if you ain't it's time you was.” “I won't! I won't do that! Boys don't make beds. That's girls' work.” “Lem!” “Well--well, I don't see why--well, I'm goin' to, ain't I? You don't have to be in such a hurry about it, do you?” “Lem!” “All right, I'm goin'. But all right for you!” On his way up the stairs he passed Henrietta coming down, and she touched him lightly on the shoulder in sign of her good-will. She was going down to meet Carter Bruce, who had insisted that she see him that morning. She found him awaiting her on the porch, in a mood not exactly pleasant. “I've got to have something definite,” he said, when he had told her why he had come. “This can't go on a day longer.” “I'm glad,” said Henrietta. “Glad about what? Glad Gay is so thoroughly infatuated with that sneak--with Freeman?” “No, glad you know now that you do love Gay,” said Henrietta. “That was what I hoped for, Carter: that you would discover it. For you do love her. And, if you do, I need not worry. Gay will not prefer Freeman to you; not if you are bold, as a lover should be.” “She does, though,” said Carter. “I don't care what he is, he has a way with women.” “Why don't you have a way with them, then, if that is what is needed?”