"Not exactly," says he; "but--well, the fact is, Father must have forgotten to send a check for last month's bill, and I'm on the board--posted, you know." "Then that wa'n't any funny dream of yours, eh," says I, "this club business? Which is it, Lotos or the Union League?" "It's my frat club, of course," says Mortimer. "And I don't mind saying that it's a deucedly expensive place for me to go, even when I can sign checks for my meals. I'm always being dragged into billiards, dollar a corner, and that sort of thing. It counts up, and I--I'm running rather close to the wind just now." "What! And you gettin' twelve?" says I. "Why, say, some supports fam'lies on that. Takes managin', though. But I'll steer you round to Max's, where for a quarter you can----" "A quarter!" breaks in Mortimer. "But--but that's more than I have left." "And this only Wednesday!" says I. "Gee! but you have been goin' the pace, ain't you? What is the sum total of the reserve, anyway?" Mortimer scoops into his trousers pockets, fishin' up a silver knife, a gold cigar clipper, and seventeen cents cash. "Well, well!" says I. "That is gettin' down to hardpan! It's breakin' one of my business rules, but I see where I underwrite your lunch ticket for the next few days." "You mean you're going to stake me?" says he. "But why?" "Well, it ain't on account of your winnin' ways," says I. "Humph!" says he. "Here! You may have this stickpin as security." "Gwan!" says I. "I ain't no loan shark. Maybe I'm just makin' an investment in you. Come on to Max's." I could see Mortimer's nose begin to turn up as we crowds in at a table where a couple of packers from the china store next door was doin' the sword swallowin' act. "What a noisy, messy place!" says he. "The service ain't quite up to Louis Martin's, that's a fact," says I; "but then, there's no extra charge for the butter and toothpicks." We tried the dairy lunch next time; but he don't like that much better. Pushin' up to the coffee urn with the mob, and havin' a tongue sandwich slammed down in front of him by a grub hustler that hadn't been to a manicure lately was only a couple of the details Mortimer shies at. "Ah, you'll soon get to overlook little things like that," says I. Mortimer shakes his head positive. "It's the disgusting crowd one has to mingle with," says he. "Such a cheap lot of--of roughnecks!" "Huh!" says I. "Lots of 'em are pullin' down more'n you or me. Some of 'em are almost human too." "I don't care," says he. "I dislike to mix with them. It's bad enough at the boarding house." "None of the aristocracy there, either?" says I. "They're freaks, all of them," says he. "What do you think--one fellow wears an outing shirt in to dinner! Then there's an old person with gray whiskers who--well, I can't bear to watch him. The others are almost as bad." "When you get to know the bunch you won't mind," says I.