"The years are before you still, Jim. Open the battle when you’re well enough. You will win out, for you are really not the man I have known. I wish I might have been a woman to bring out what you really are. Some woman will. Meanwhile give a friendly hand and a generous lift to a fellow who deserves your respect and consideration—your other self. "Good-by and good luck. "Your cousin, "DIANA TENNANT." In a few days Edgerton began to experience the intolerable sensations of a bone which is mending itself. He had become very restless and impatient; and, finally, the doctor let him wear his arm in a sling and go out to hunt for a job. He had no trouble in securing one—a small clerkship with Close & Co., ornamental iron work. He might have done even better. All iron men knew who James Edgerton 3d must be. Many friends of the old firm of Edgerton, Tennant & Co. might have offered him easier work and higher salary, but he not only went to none of them—he even avoided them. He had decided to discover what he really was worth. It rather surprised him to find out that the big, blue-eyed, snub-nosed Irishman, Mr. Dineen, whom he had met at Adriutha, was a director in Close & Co. Later, he discovered that Mr. Dineen was also interested in his own old firm, Edgerton, Tennant & Co., now reconstructed, but still bearing the ancient name. And after a while he learned that Mr. Dineen seemed to be interested in almost every house in New York that dealt in structural or ornamental iron. Edgerton’s duties began with ledger work. And the evening that he drew his first pay, he wrote Diana: "DEAR Di: "I’m getting fifteen dollars a week with Close & Co., ornamental iron. I have my first week’s wages in my pocket. As I pay no rent, I can live on it. "It’s not uninteresting work. Somebody said something about my going into the designing department as a draughtsman. That’s pretty quick advancement—if it comes. I’ll let you know if it does. "My arm is about well. It’s still mummified, of course, but that maddening sensation is gone. Town isn’t so bad. Of course, it’s rather hot and dusty, and, as usual, it looks dingy and mean in its characteristic October shabbiness—meaner for the glorious blue overhead and the pitiless sun exposing its few withered trees and its many architectural shams in the remorseless light of high heaven. "But I am peculiarly happy. I have no servant; I dine at a French restaurant for seventy-five cents, and I prepare my own breakfast in the studio. Crackers and milk compose my luncheon at the price of ten pennies. And I never felt better. All this in case you are interested in such details. "To answer your letter—I did not intend to write until I had nailed down a job and received my first pay envelope. Now I feel that I may.