“Poor dad!” muttered Tommy, thinking of his father's unbearable burden, and full of pity for the helplessness that insisted upon helping the son for whom he had done so much. It was Tommy Leigh who must help Tommy Leigh--in order that Tommy Leigh might help his father. He wondered if Rivington was up. He looked at his watch. It was eight-forty-four. Rivington was not up yet. Tommy went to the corner drug-store, and from there telephoned to the Willetts' house. He told the servant who answered the call to tell Mr. Rivington that Mr. Thomas Leigh would be there at ten sharp--very important! Rivington was very glad to see Tommy, and showed it in ways that Tommy good-naturedly thought boyish but sincere, and, therefore, pardonable. But Rivington's face showed a quite mature respect when Tommy bluntly told him he wished to see Colonel Willetts on business. “Does it involve him parting from some of his wad?” asked Rivington. Tommy perceived that Rivington was still an undergraduate. Therefore he answered in the same language. “It do, my boy. That is a necessary part of the operation by which I hope to do you the greatest favor one true man can do another.” “The old gentleman is hell on real estate,” warned Rivington. “We own the most valuable portions of the Lord's green footstool in fee simple,” said Tommy, reassuringly. “I tell you again, terra firma is his obsession. And even at that he is from Missouri.” “That's the kind I like. For what else was my larynx made?” “I always understood,” said Rivington, gravely, “that there was money in éditions de luxe, and that nice old widow ladies always fell for the young Demosthenes.” “Lad, it isn't eloquence that I spurt, but a bald narrative of the facts,” said Tommy, glad to convince Rivington that he was strictly business. But Rivington rose to his feet and said, solemnly: “Thomas, I hereby invite you to dine with my family to-night at seven-thirty. I do so officially; and kindly take notice that the invitation has been received by you before you have talked sordid business to my revered parent. Do you accept?” “I do,” said Tommy. “Very well; I shall spread it on the official minutes of this meeting. I shall tell Marion when she comes in from her ride. That child is a--what would you call her--a centauress or a lady equestrienne?” “I call her a Christian martyr every time I think of her brother,” said Tommy. “Yes?” said Rivington, very politely. “Well, my father will avenge me. I'll let him know that we'll be down at his office with an ambulance at three-ten. The stock-market closes at three. He ought to be fit to talk to ten minutes later. And now you come with me. I want to show you my new Parker six.” “Riv, why don't you drive a car?” inquired Tommy, solicitously. “Haw! Haw! A Tecumseh, hey? Oh, my appendix! Don't make me laugh when I'm driving, Tommily.” “Got a license, son?” “Better than that. The cops all know me. Come on, I'll learn you something.”