Afterward, when Davy Junior had had his bottle and closed his eyes, Shirley dusted off one chair and they sat down in it. "Now tell me about yourself and business and everything." So, finding it harder than he had thought it could be, he told her of the panic and what it meant to them. She listened with a pretty air of taking it all in and making ready to meet the situation. When his account was ended, she pushed herself back to look into his eyes. "David, when did you know about that Fisher man?" "The day you got your aunt's letter." David flushed as though he had done something shameful. Her eyes filled with tears. "And you kept it from me so my visit wouldn't be spoiled, and stayed here worrying by yourself while I was out there having a good time. Oh, David-- Oh, David! Well," she got to her feet and stood upright before him, "I'll tell you this much. Let the old panic come on--I'm not afraid. We'll make out somehow. And we won't worry either. What if we do have to give up things? We have each other--and Davy Junior--and nothing else counts." They repeated in chorus. "We have each other and Davy Junior and nothing else counts." They were very happy just then and so it was easy to be brave. CHAPTER III ON THE SANDS In a few months the first stress of the panic lifted. The worry creases between men's eyes were being ironed out. A few who had money, taking advantage of cheap labor and materials, began to build. Dick Holden came home, with a trunkful of presents for his friends and another of English clothes for himself, and at once became busy. The Quentins were still hanging on--"by a frog's hair," David said. But they had paid. It always costs to survive. They had paid, despite their brave words, in the coin of worry. More than once David had jingled a few coins in his pocket, wondering where he could add to them on the morrow and when he had borrowed how he could repay. But they had paid with a bigger price than that. The pretty flower of romance was withering in the shade. The cozy little times, when one chair did for both and they became beautifully silly, were fewer and briefer now. When they tucked Davy Junior in at night and whispered that he was almost too bright to be healthy, shadowing their pride was the chill cloud of fear that he, too, might have to feel the pinch. Often they moved restlessly about the apartment or sat listlessly yawning, wishing there were something to do. And sometimes, without warning, quarrels would blaze, over nothing at all. It is so easy to mislay your temper when worry is gnawing at your heart, and perhaps you don't try very hard to find it. David always had to find his first, but the making up was never quite perfect.