His good cheer was not a pretense, for he was never made to feel a pinch. This was a misfortune and the blame must be laid to his own engaging qualities. He found that he could borrow as easily as, when in funds, he had lent. Even Jim Blaisdell who, in his cashier's office, was held a skinflint and a keen judge of men, was cordiality itself when David went to him with a note for discount. "Gladly," he said. "But you'll have to have an indorser, you know." "I didn't know," laughed David. "You see, I never tried this before. Am I an innocent?" "It'll be all right, though," Blaisdell answered. "I'll indorse for you." Something made David hesitate. "It's fair to say I mightn't be able to meet it promptly." "Then we'll carry you. Your face is collateral enough for me. Beat it now--I'm busy. And come out for dinner to-night, Davy." Sometimes David would feel a qualm of discomfort as he found himself gradually getting behind and sometimes he would wonder, a little sensitively, at the slowness of recognition. But such moments were brief. Unconsciously he had imbibed his friends' vague confidence in his future. Some day he would win a big commission which, brilliantly executed, would make him forever secure. In the meantime, because he was an honest workman, he gave to his few clients the best he had, a really fine best, worthy of wider notice. And because he grew daily more in love with his art and proposed to be found ready when his great chance came, he put in his spare hours studying hard, making sketches--he had a pretty knack for that and might have become a third-rate painter--of the numberless ideas that floated to him out of tobacco clouds or down from a moonlit sky or across a music-filled room. Sometimes he would tear the sketches to bits. But sometimes, lingering lovingly over one, he would know a deep thrill. "Why, this," he would exclaim, "this is good. Oh!" hugging himself, "they'll have to come to me yet." On the strength of this conclusion he would allow himself some special extravagance. When he was twenty-seven he was making about nine hundred a year, spending it all as it came, and owed more than five hundred dollars. Then he met Shirley Lord. It was at a dinner given by the Jim Blaisdells, whose guest she was. Mrs. Jim introduced them. "Shirley dear, this is our Davy Quentin. As a special favor--to each of you--I'm putting you together to-night. You have just a minute now to get acquainted." And Mrs. Jim fluttered away.