“The clothes are paid for,” said Philip with a close-lipped smile; and then, the reticent traditions taking a fresh hold: “I have a fairly good job at present, keeping personal books for a fellow who owns a half-interest in a mine over on the other side of the Divide.” “Pay better than the railroad?” “M-m--some better; yes.” “Had your pick-and-shovel summer for nothing, of course, like hundreds of other tenderfoots, I take it?” “Oh, I don’t know about that: I had a decently good time and picked up some little experience. For one thing, I got better acquainted with the fellow whose books I am keeping.” “You knew him before you went prospecting?” “Slightly; yes.” “Is he here in Denver now?” Philip smiled again. “If he weren’t here, I shouldn’t be here.” Then: “Anything new with you? Haven’t made that marrying trip to Ohio yet, have you?” The fat-faced ex-tonnage clerk shook his head and looked as if Philip’s question were more or less embarrassing. “No; not yet.” Philip got up to go. “Much obliged to you for keeping my letters for me. If any more should come before I can let people know where to reach me, just have the carrier bring them around to the St James.” “Oho!” said Middleton, with his nickering laugh; “so we live in a first-class hotel now, do we?” “We do,” Philip admitted; and with that he took his leave. Though he had carried it off casually for Middleton’s benefit, the reading of Jean Dabney’s pathetic little note had moved him profoundly, and he was disappointed at not finding some later word from her, telling what course had been decided upon, and giving an address by means of which he might communicate with her. Was the family still in Denver? And, if so, how was it contriving to live? He had seen genteel poverty at home at sufficiently short range to be able to recognize the signs of it, and he wondered how much, if anything, had been left for the widow and her three girls after the funeral expenses had been paid. Then, too, Jean’s intimation that she would try to find work in Denver stirred a deep pool of compassion in him. With the northern man’s preconception of southern women it was difficult to envisage her as the bread-winner for a family of four; but that it must have come to this in the end he was fairly well assured. His single contact with the Mississippi family as a whole had given him the impression that the mother was devoted but not particularly resourceful in any practical way; “do-less” would be the harsh New England word, but with a feeling that large allowances should be made for any woman who had grown up in the slave-served South, he did not apply it.