What Mrs. Shannon had not guessed was the fact that Old Captain and Mr. Duval had discovered--or, rather, had been discovered by--two places willing to pay good prices for their excellent whitefish and trout. The _chef_ of a certain hotel noted for planked whitefish gave a standing order for fish of a certain size. And a certain dining-car steward, having once tasted that delicious planked fish, discovered where it was to be obtained in a raw state and, thereafter, twice a week, ordered a supply for his car. The townspeople, moreover, liked to buy fish from Old Captain's queer shop in the end of his freight car. The third partner, Barney Turcott, whose old sailboat had been equipped with a gasoline motor, had been fortunate in his catches. Altogether, the season was proving a satisfactory one. Sometimes Duval looked at his bankbook and sighed. He had vowed to save the money because it was _right_ to save it for the unhappy purpose for which he wanted it. But when he should have enough! Duval could not bear to think of that moment. It meant a tremendous sacrifice--a horrible wrench. Yet every penny, except what was actually needed for food, went into the bank. And the fund was growing almost _too_ rapidly for Duval's comfort. One evening, when Jeanne stepped over the high threshold of her father's little room for her lesson--no matter how tired the fisherman might be, the daily lesson was never omitted--she found Mr. Duval kneeling beside the little old trunk. It was open and the tray had been lifted out. From the depths below, her father had taken a number of fine white shirts--what Old Captain called "b'iled shirts." A pair of shoes that could have been made for no other feet than Léon Duval's--they were so small, so trim, and yet so masculine--stood on the table. Beside them were two pairs of neatly-rolled socks--of finest silk, had Jeanne but known it. Still in the trunk were several neckties, a suit of fine underwear, also a suit of men's clothing. Duval carefully lifted out the coat and slipped it on. It fitted him very well. "Tell me, little one," said Duval, eagerly, "if it looks to you like the coats worn by the well-dressed men of today?" "I--I don't think I've _seen_ very many well-dressed men--that is, to notice their clothes," said Jeanne. "Nor I," said her father. "I am on the lake daytimes, where the well-dressed are apt to wear white flannels and are nineteen years of age. Often there is a pink parasol. The _lake_ fashions, I fear, are not for a man of my sober years. In the evening, the well-dressed man is either indoors or in his overcoat. I think I must ask you to do me a favor." "I'd love to, Daddy. What is it?" "Tomorrow, you will be taking this book back to the library for me. On the way there and on your way back, through the town, whenever you can, walk behind a well-dressed gentleman. I want you to study the seams and the tails of the coat. Now look well at these."