"There is no need of making up any more stories, Mrs. Marlow. The purse contained eleven dollars and a half, including the gold piece. You spent a dollar at the grocery store. I want the balance." "Sure you're very cruel to a poor widow, Rupert Rollins," said Mrs. Marlow, bursting into tears, which she could command when occasion required. "I never was called a thafe before." As she spoke she drew out her handkerchief, but, unfortunately, there was something entangled with it, and the purse was twitched out and fell on the floor. Rupert sprang forward and secured it, though Mrs. Marlow tried to put her foot on it. "This is the purse that was taken from mother," said Rupert. "How came it in your pocket?" "I don't know," faltered the widow. "I can't account for it." "I can. Hereafter, Mrs. Marlow, if you ever enter our room again I will send for a policeman." "It's my own purse!" asserted Mrs. Marlow, deciding to brazen it out. For answer Rupert opened it, and showed written inside the name "Frank Sylvester." "Do you see that, Mrs. Marlow? That is the name of the gentleman who gave me the purse." "Why didn't I say that was my cousin's name?" thought Mrs. Marlow, but it was too late. Rupert counted the contents of the purse, and found them intact, except the dollar which Mrs. Marlow had spent. "I won't say anything about the money you spent," he said, "though I might claim the groceries. Good afternoon, and try to lead a better life." Mrs. Marlow sank into a rocking-chair, and began to cry dismally. Her plans had miscarried for a certainty, and she felt angry with herself. "Why didn't I put the purse in my trunk?" she asked herself. "Then he wouldn't have found out. Sure I cheated myself." Rupert went upstairs with a light heart. "Well, did you hear anything of the purse?" asked his mother. For answer he held it up. "Where did you get it?" "It came from Mrs. Marlow's pocket." "What a wicked woman!" exclaimed Grace. "She must have taken it when I was asleep." "Did she give it up willingly? I thought she would have denied it." "So she did, mother, but your son is a detective. I'll tell you how I managed it," and he told the story. "There's only a dollar gone," he said in conclusion. "Don't leave it in the bureau drawer again, though I don't think Mrs. Marlow will trouble you with another call." A day or two later the rent came due, and eight dollars had to be taken from the scanty fund, which left the family again very near destitution. Rupert did not relax his efforts to secure a place, but when business is dull the difficulty of securing a position is much increased. He became anxious, and the prospect seemed very dark. "I must do something," he said to himself, "if it's only selling papers. That will be better than blacking boots, though that is an honest business." To make matters worse, his mother was unable to procure vests to make from any of the readymade clothing establishments.