Wayne’s experiences that day were disheartening. Medfield was a town of nearly thirty thousand inhabitants, but not one of that number, it appeared, was in need of Wayne’s services, nor cared whether he lived or starved. He made his way to the centre of the town and visited store after store, and office after office, climbing many weary flights and knocking at many inhospitable doors while Sam waited outside in patient resignation. At noon Wayne lunched in a shabby and none-too-clean little restaurant on five cents’ worth of beef stew and two pieces of bread, feeling a bit panicky as he did so, because five from thirty left only what June would have called “two bits” and Wayne a quarter, and which, no matter what you called it, was a frighteningly small amount of money to have between you and nothing. But he felt a heap better after that stew and went back to his task with more courage. Sam felt better, too, for he had had a whole slice of bread dipped in gravy and a nice gristly bone. The trouble was that when, as happened very infrequently, to be sure, but did happen, he was asked what he could do he had to answer either “Anything” or “Nothing.” Of course he chose to say “Anything,” but the result was always disappointing. As one crabbed, much-bewhiskered man in a hardware store told him, “Anything means nothing.” After that Wayne boldly presented himself at the busy office of a dry-goods emporium and offered himself as a bookkeeper. It was more a relief than a disappointment when the dapper man in charge informed him, after a dubious examination of his attire, that there was no present vacancy. Wayne was conscious of the amused glances of the men at the desks as he hurried out. It was almost dusk when he finally gave up and turned his steps toward the deserted shed near the railway. He had trouble in finding it, walking many blocks out of his way and for a space fearing that darkness would overtake him before he reached it. In the end it was Sam who kept him from making a second mistake, for Wayne was for passing the shed a block away until the dog’s insistence on turning down a dim, cobble-paved street brought the search to an end. June was already on hand, squatting comfortably on the wheelbarrow and crooning to himself in the twilight. Sam showed his delight in the reunion by licking June’s face while Wayne discouragedly lowered himself to a seat at the darkey’s side. “Any luck?” he asked tiredly. “Nothin’ permanent, Mas’ Wayne, but I done earned us another two bits. This is a right smart town, this is. Nobody don’t have to go hungry in this town, no, sir!” Wayne tried to keep the envy out of his voice as he answered: “That’s great, June. How did you do it?”