"I don't see it. Even Nats have their place in the cosmic system, Tracey." "I dunno what that is, but you ain't like Sam." "The loss is mine, Tracey. Proceed." "But, Mr. Duncan..." "I beg of you, speak to me as to a friend." Tracey struggled perceptibly. The words, when they came, were blurted. "Ah... I was only thinkin' 'bout Angie." "Do you ever think about anything else?" "No," Tracey admitted honestly, "not much. But I was wonderin'--" "Well?" "Are you stuck on Angie, Mr. Duncan?" demanded Tracey desperately. "Great snakes! I hope not!" Duncan cast an anxious glance about him, and discovered the poster depicting the gentleman in strange attire vainly endeavouring to free his overcoat (I believe it's his overcoat) from the bench upon which a pot of glue has been spilled. He lifted a reverent hand to the card. "Tracey," he said solemnly, "I swear to you that not even that indispensable article of commerce could stick me on Angie." The boy sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Duncan. I was only worryin' because you and Angie is singin' together in the choir, now Josie Lockwood's gone to school, an'--an' Angie's the purtiest girl in town--and I was 'fraid 't you might like her best, when Josie's away. An' I wanted to ask you to pick out s'mother girl." Duncan chuckled silently. "Tracey," he said presently, "it strikes me you must be in love with Angie." The boy gulped. "I--I am." "And I think she's rather partial to you." "Do you, really, Mr. Duncan?" "I do. Do you want to marry her?" "Gee! I can't hardly wait!... Only," Tracey continued, disconsolate, "it ain't no use, really. She's so purty and swell and old man Tuthill's so rich--not like the Lockwoods, but rich, all the same--an' I'm only the son of the livery-stable man, an' fat an'--all that--an'--" "Nonsense, Tracey!" Nat interrupted firmly. "If you really want her and will follow the rules I give you, it's a cinch." "Honest, Mr. Duncan?" "I guarantee it, Tracey. Listen to me...." And Duncan expounded Kellogg's rules at length, adapting them to Tracey's circumstances, of course; and throughout maintained the gravity of a graven image. "You try, and you'll see if I'm not right," he concluded. "Gosh! I b'lieve you are!" Tracey cried admiringly. "I'm just going to see how it works." "Do, if you'd favour me, Tracey." Tracey was quiet for a time, working with the regularity of a mind relieved. But presently he felt unable to contain himself. Gratitude surged in his bosom, and he had to speak. "Sa-y, lis'en...." "Proceed, Tracey." "Say, Mist--Nat, you've treated me somethin' immense." "Your mistake, Tracey. I haven't treated anybody since I've been here: I'm on the wagon." "I mean just now, when we was talkin' 'bout me an' Angie. I'd--I'd like to help you the same way, if I could." "You would?" Duncan eyed the boy apprehensively, wondering what was coming. "Yes, indeedy, I would. An' p'rhaps I kin tell you somethin' that will." "Speak, I beg."