"Get enough sleep and don't do much sitting up and counting the stars?" "Hardly. How've you been?" "Sound as a drum." "How's the business, father?" The question brought them perilously near what each had in mind. Perhaps one word of daring would have broken down the pride of their mutual obstinacy. Mr. Crocker growled out: "Business is mighty shaky. Your precious Wall Street and politics have got every one scared to death. Mighty lucky we'll be if a crash doesn't hit us." Had Bojo defended himself, the father might have reopened the question of his entering the mills; but he didn't, and after a few minutes of indefinite seeking for an opening Mr. Crocker went off as abruptly as he had come. The next morning Bojo, to end this depressing period of inactivity, made a resolve to accept any opportunity, no matter how humble the salary, and went down to see Mr. Stoughton to ask him for the chance to start at the bottom. Skeeter received him with the same cordiality as before, but access to the father was not to be had that day. In desperation he sat down and wrote his request. Two days later he received his answer in the evening mail. Mr. Thomas Crocker. Dear Tom: Please forgive any delay due to press of business. Just at present there is no vacancy, and frankly I would not advise you to take the step even if there were. I know you are young and impatient to be at work again, but I can not but feel that you would not be happy in making such a radical move, particularly when at any moment the opportunity you are looking for may turn up. Cordially yours, J. N. STOUGHTON. Granning came in as he was sitting by the wastebasket and slowly tearing this letter into minute shreds. "Hello, young fellow--what luck?" "I think I'm on," said Bojo, slowly, feeling all at once shelved and abandoned. "The last thing people downtown have any use for, Granning, is a busted broker!" "You have found that out, have you?" said Granning quickly. Bojo nodded. "Well, you're right." He sat down. "See here, old sport, why don't you do the thing you ought to do?" "What's that?" "Go down and see the old man and tell him you're ready to start for the mills to-morrow!" "No, no, I can't do that." "You want to do it, at heart. It's only pride that's keeping you." "Perhaps, but that pride means a lot to me," said Bojo doggedly. "Never! I'm not going to him a failure. So shut up about that." "Well, what are you going to do?" Bojo began to whistle, looking out the window. "Suppose I were to offer you a job over at the factory?" "Would you?" said Bojo, looking up with a leaping heart. "That means starting in on rock bottom--as I did. Up at six, there at seven--beginning as a day laborer on a beautifully oily and smudgy blanking machine among a bunch of Polacks." "Will you give me a chance?" said Bojo breathlessly. "Will you stick it out?" "You bet I will!" "Done!"