"Well, no need to scare a body out of their wits--scaring his mother to death won't bring his money back, will it? If it's gone it's gone." "But ma, it _is_ awful!" cried Psyche. "Listen to what Uncle Peter says. We're poor! Don't you understand? Perce has lost all our money." Mrs. Bines was eating her soup defiantly. "Long's he's got his health," she began. "And me windin' up in the poorhouse," whined Uncle Peter. "Think of it, ma! Oh, what shall we do?" Percival entered. Uncle Peter did not raise his head. Psyche stared at him. His mother ran to him, satisfied herself that he was sound in wind and limb, that he had not treacherously donned his summer underwear, and that his feet were not wet. Then she led him to the table. "Now you sit right down here and take some food. If you're all right, everything is all right." With a weak attempt at his old gaiety he began: "Really, Mrs. Crackenthorpe--" but he caught Psyche's look and had to stop. "I'm sorry, sis, clear into my bones. I made an ass of myself--a regular fool right from the factory." "Never mind, my son; eat your soup," said his mother. And then, with honest intent to comfort him, "Remember that saying of your pa's, 'it takes all kinds of fools to make a world.'" "But there ain't any fool like a damn fool!" said Uncle Peter, shortly. "I been a-tellin' him." "Well, you just let him alone; you'll spoil his appetite, first thing you know. My son, eat your soup, now before it gets cold." "If I only hadn't gone in so heavy," groaned Percival. "Or, if I'd only got tied up in some way for a few weeks--something I could tide over." "Yes," said Uncle Peter, with a cheerful effort at sarcasm, "it's always easy to think up a lot of holes you _could_ get out of--some different kind of a hole besides the one you're in. That's all some folks can do when they get in one hole, they say, 'Oh, if I was only in that other one, now, how slick I could climb out!' I ain't ever met a person yet was satisfied with the hole they was in. Always some complaint to make about 'em." "And I had a chance to get out a week ago." "Yes, and you wouldn't take it, of course--you knew too much--swellin' around here about bein' a Napoleon of finance--and a Shepler and a Wizard of Wall Street, and all that kind of guff--and you wouldn't take your chance, and old Mr. Chance went right off and left you, that's what. I tell you, what some folks need is a breed of chances that'll stand without hitchin'." Percival braced himself and began on his soup. [Illustration: _"'REMEMBER THAT SAYING OF YOUR PA'S--IT TAKES ALL KINDS OF FOOLS TO MAKE A WORLD.'"_] "Never you mind, Uncle Peter. You remember what I told you." "That takes a different man from what you are. If your pa was alive now--" "But what are we going to do?" cried Psyche.