Dashes of cold water helped, so William and the tutor telling each other how hungry they were, brought two boys ready to eat anything, to the table. Cake and cream were not mentioned. Bread and milk, cold meat, salad, and a plain pudding were delicious. Between bites James studied his father, then suddenly burst forth: "Are you a gentleman?" "I try to be," answered Mr. Minturn. "Are you running this city?" put in Malcolm. "I am doing what I can to help," said his father. "Make Johnston take me home to get my money." "You have no home but this," said Mr. Minturn. "Your old home now belongs to the city of Multiopolis. It is to be torn up and made over into a place where sick children can be cured. If you are ever too ill for us to manage, we'll take you there to be doctored." "Will mother and Lucette be there?" asked James. Malcolm nudged his brother. "Can't you remember?" he said. "Lucette has gone across the ocean, and she is never coming back, goody! goody! And you know about how much mother cares when we are sick. She's _coming_ the other _way_, when anybody is _sick_. She just hates sick people. Let _them_ go, and get your _money!_" Thus reminded, James began again, "I want to get my money." "Your money came from your mother, so it went with your home, your clothes, and your playthings," explained Mr. Minturn. "You have none until you _earn_ some. I can give you a home, education, and a fine position when you are old enough to hold it; but I _can't give you money. No one ever gave me any. I always had to work for mine. From now on you are going to live with me, so if you have money you'll have to go to work and earn it_." Both boys looked aghast at him. "Ain't we rich any more?" "No," said Mr. Minturn. "Merely comfortable!" James leaned back in his chair, twisting his body in its smooth linen covering. He looked intently at the room, table and people surrounding it. He glanced from the window at the wide green lawn, the big trees, and for an instant seemed to be listening to the birds singing there. He laid down his fork, turning to his brother. Then he exploded the bomb that shattered the family. "Oh damn being rich!" he cried. "I like being _comfortable_ a _lot_ better! Malcolm, being rich has put us about ten miles behind where we ought to be. We're baby-girl softies! We wouldn't a-faced the guns and _not_ told where the soldiers were, _we'd_ a-bellered for cake. Brace up! Let's get in the game! Father, have we got to go on the street and hunt work, or can you give us a job?" James Minturn tried to speak, then pushing back his chair left the table precipitately. James Jr. looked after him doubtfully. He turned to Aunt Margaret. "Please excuse me," he said. "I guess he's choked. I'd better go pound him on the back like Lucette does us." Malcolm looked at Aunt Margaret. "Mother won't let us work," he announced.