The man fumbled in his pockets. Something in his face was familiar to experienced Stubby. It suggested a having to have two dollars and a half by August first and only having a dollar and a quarter state of mind. “I haven't got the change. Pay you at the end of next week for the whole business. That all right?” Stubby considered. “I've got to have it before the first of August,” he said. At that the man laughed--funny kind of laugh, it was, and muttered something. But he told Stubby he would have it before the first. It bothered Stubby. He wished the man had given it to him _then_. He would rather get it each week and keep it himself. A little of the grown-up look stole back. After that he didn't see Mr. Stuart, and one day, a week or so later, the package was not in the box and a man who wore the kind of clothes Stubby's father wore came around the house and asked him what he was doing. Stubby was wary. “Oh, I've got a little job I do for Mr. Stuart.” The man laughed. “I had a little job I did for Mr. Stuart, too. You paid in advance?” Stubby pricked up his ears. “'Cause if you ain't, I'd advise you to look out for a little job some'eres else.” Then it came out. Mr. Stuart was broke; more than that, he was “off his nut.” Lots of people were doing little jobs for him--there was no sense in any of them, and now he had suddenly been called out of town! There was a trembly feeling through Stubby's insides, but outwardly he was bristling just like his hair bristled as he demanded: “Where am I to get what's coming to me?” “'Fraid you won't get it, sonny. We're all in the same boat.” He looked Stubby up and down and then added: “Kind of little for that boat.” “I _got_ to have it!” cried Stubby. “I tell you, I _got_ to!” The man shook his head. “_That_ cuts no ice. Hard luck, sonny, but we've got to take our medicine in this world. 'Taint no medicine for kids, though,” he muttered. Stubby's face just then was too much for him. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a dime, saying: “There now. You run along and get you a soda and forget your troubles. It ain't always like this. You'll have better luck next time.” But Stubby did not get the soda. He put the dime in his pocket and turned toward home. Something was the matter with his legs--they acted funny about carrying him. He tried to whistle, but something was the matter with his lips, too. Counting this dime, he now had a dollar and eighty cents, and it was the twenty-eighth day of July. “Thirty days has September--April, June and November--” he was saying to himself. Then July was one of the long ones. Well, _that_ was a good thing! Been a great deal worse if July was a short one. Again he tried to whistle, and that time did manage to pipe out a few shrill little notes. When Hero came running up the hill to meet him he slapped him on the back and cried, “Hello, Hero!” in tones fairly swaggering with bravado.