Caleb’s eye brightened. He looked at Hawarden with a new interest. “Eighty dollars?” he repeated. “How long’d it take you to write it out?” “About three days, I think,” answered the boy, puzzled at the question. “H’m! Not so bad. Hundred an’ sixty dollars a week; with Sunday off. Why don’t you stick to that instead of messin’ around with the law?” “It was the tenth story I’d sent them,” confessed Hawarden, heroically. “And it was the first one they took. That’s the trouble with literature. It--” “So, as things stand now,” pursued Caleb, “you’ve no real money. No sure prospects. An’ you want to marry Dey Shevlin. You want her to share your nothin’-a-year. Or,” he grated, “maybe you think it’d be nice to live on _her_ cash?” “I think nothing of the sort!” flared Hawarden, scarlet with anger. “I’ll not stand that sort of talk even from _her_ guardian. I wouldn’t touch a penny of any woman’s money if I were starving! I--” “That sounds kind of like a book, too,” commented Caleb. “But you mean it. I’m glad you do. I think I kind of like you. So instead of throwin’ you downstairs, I’m goin’ to waste a whole minute talkin’ to you. You’re a nice kid. You come here bristlin’ with book learnin’ an’ idees of honor an’ you make your little speech to the stony hearted guardian an’ stand ready to say ‘God bless you, sir, for them kind words!’ or ‘You’ve busted two young hearts!’ No, you needn’t squirm. It’s so. But you can rub both those remarks off the slate. Neither of ’em’ll be needed. You’ve the good sense to fall in love with the dandiest girl that ever happened. But what have you got to offer her? Besides your valuable self, I mean? You’re askin’ for the greatest thing in all this world. Do you give anything in exchange? Not you. You want her,--her with her pretty ways, an’ clever brain an’ gorgeous little face. An’ you can’t even support her. You can’t even say: ‘I’ve got ten dollars a week of my own. I’ll give it all to her.’ You’ve no money--no prospects. An’ you want her to exchange herself for _that_. Her that could marry a millionaire if she wanted to.” “I’m--I’m willing that the engagement should be a long one,” hesitated the boy, battling futilely against the vulgar truth of Caleb’s words. “I wouldn’t ask her to marry me till I was able to support her,--to support her _well_.”