“Sure I look it,” Tembarom answered, taking his napkin out of its ring with an unconscious flourish. “I've landed the up-town society page--landed it, by gee!” A good-humored chorus of ejaculatory congratulation broke forth all round the table. “Good business!” “Three cheers for T. T.!” “Glad of it!” “Here's luck!” said one after another. They were all pleased, and it was generally felt that Galton had shown sense and done the right thing again. Even Mr. Hutchinson rolled about in his chair and grunted his approval. After dinner Tembarom, Jim Bowles, and Julius Steinberger went upstairs stairs together and filled the hall bedroom with clouds of tobacco-smoke, tilting their chairs against the wall, smoking their pipes furiously, flushed and talkative, working themselves up with the exhilarated plannings of youth. Jim Bowles and Julius had been down on their luck for several weeks, and that “good old T. T.” should come in with this fairy-story was an actual stimulus. If you have never in your life been able to earn more than will pay for your food and lodging, twenty dollars looms up large. It might be the beginning of anything. “First thing is to get on to the way to do it,” argued Tembarom. “I don't know the first thing. I've got to think it out. I couldn't ask Biker. He wouldn't tell me, anyhow.” “He's pretty mad, I guess,” said Steinberger. “Mad as hops,” Tembarom answered. “As I was coming down-stairs from Galton's room he was standing in the hall talking to Miss Dooley, and he said: `That Tembarom fellow's going to do it! He doesn't know how to spell. I should like to see his stuff come in.' He said it loud, because he wanted me to hear it, and he sort of laughed through his nose.” “Say, T. T., can you spell?” Jim inquired thoughtfully. “Spell? Me? No,” Tembarom owned with unshaken good cheer. “What I've got to do is to get a tame dictionary and keep it chained to the leg of my table. Those words with two m's or two l's in them get me right down on the mat. But the thing that looks biggest to me is how to find out where the news is, and the name of the fellow that'll put me on to it. You can't go up a man's front steps and ring the bell and ask him if he's going to be married or buried or have a pink tea.” “Wasn't that a knock at the door?” said Steinberger. It was a knock, and Tembarom jumped up and threw the door open, thinking Mrs. Bowse might have come on some household errand. But it was Little Ann Hutchinson instead of Mrs. Bowse, and there was a threaded needle stuck into the front of her dress, and she had on a thimble. “I want Mr. Bowles's new socks,” she said maternally. “I promised I'd mark them for him.” Bowles and Steinberger sprang from their chairs, and came forward in the usual comfortable glow of pleasure at sight of her.