As Coningsby had said, it was office-boy’s work, but it suited me. It was a matter of getting broken in again, and—whether it came by accident or my friend’s good-heartedness—an easy job in which there was no thinking or responsibility was the most effective means that could have been found of nursing me along. At the end of a week I was treated to the well-nigh incredible wonder of a check. Early on a Sunday morning I took it to Christian, asking that it should be turned in toward my expenses at the club. Having read its amount, he held it in his fingers, twisting it and turning it. “You see, Frank,” he said, after thinking for a minute, “the primary object of the club is not to be paid for what it spends—though that is an object—it’s to help fellows to get on their feet. Of you nineteen chaps who are in the house at present twelve are regularly paying for their board and lodging, and that pretty well carries us along. If there’s a deficit it’s covered by the back payments of men who’ve gone out and who are making up. So that this isn’t pressing for the minute—” “But I should like to pay it, sir.” “Yes, of course; but it’s a question of what is most urgent. Now this isn’t urgent; we can extend your credit; whereas, the first bit of bluff we’ve all got to put up when we’re pulling ourselves together is in clothes.” He asked me how long my present job would go on. I said for about three weeks. “Then keep this check,” he pursued, handing it back to me, “till you get as much again. That will be enough to turn you out quite smart. Go to Straight, at Bruch Brothers—all our fellows go to him—and he’ll advise you to the best advantage.” The words were accompanied by such a smile that I, who am not emotional, felt my eyes smart. _CHAPTER VIII_ The summer passed with no more than two or three other incidents worth the jotting down. In the first place, the day arrived when I had to make up my mind either to leave the club or to join it. Expecting some opposition from Lovey as to joining it, I was surprised to find him take the suggestion complacently. “I’ve found out,” he whispered to me, “that yer can jine this club—and fall. Yer can fall three times before they’ll turn ye out.” “Oh, but you wouldn’t want to fall in cold blood.” “Well,” he muttered, doubtfully, “I ain’t partic’lar about the blood. Now my hadvice’d be this: ’Ere we are in July. That’s all right; we can jine. Then in Haugust we can ’ave a wee little bit of a fall—just two or three days like. We can do the same in September; and the same in Hoctober. That’ll use up our three times, and we can come back under cover for the worst months of the winter. We can’t fall no more after that; but in the spring we can try somethink else. There’s always things.” “And suppose I don’t mean to fall?” He looked hurt. “Oh, if you can keep straight without me—” “But if I can’t, Lovey? If I must keep straight and need you to help me?”