Don had never sold anything in his life except a few old clothes to second-hand clothes men in Cambridge. Strictly speaking, that was more in the nature of a gift than a sale: for a hundred dollars' worth of clothes, he received perhaps ten dollars, which he felt obliged to spend on his friends at the first opportunity. Don had always been a buyer--a talent that required neither preparation nor development. Money had always passed from him to some one else. This was pleasant enough, but undramatic. There was no clash; it called for no effort on his part. To reverse all this and watch the money pass in the other direction--from some one else to him--impressed him as a pleasant variation. At seven o'clock Don replaced his circulars in his pocket and went downstairs. Wadsworth passed him, and for a moment Don was tempted to stop him and try out his knowledge of bonds on him. The club, however, was hardly the place for that. But if ever he met Wadsworth on the street he would see what he could do. Wadsworth had never been more than an acquaintance of his, but now he saw in him a prospective customer. Don stepped into a taxi at the door and gave the driver the address supplied by Miss Winthrop. The cab after a little came to a stop before one of several entrances in a long brick block. Before Don had time to reach the door Miss Winthrop stepped out. He had rather hoped for an opportunity to meet some of her family. "Am I late?" he inquired anxiously. He could not account in any other way for the fact that she had hurried out before he had a chance to send in his card. "No," she answered. "Did you come in that?" She was looking at the taxi. He nodded, and stood at the door, ready to assist her in. "Well, you may send it away now," she informed him. "But--" "I won't go in it," she insisted firmly. "Afraid it will break down?" "Are you going to send it away?" Without further argument he paid the driver and sent him off. "It isn't right to waste money like that," she told him. "Oh, that was the trouble? But it wouldn't have cost more than a couple of dollars to have gone back with him." "Two dollars! That's carfare for three weeks." "Of course, if you look at it that way. But here we are away uptown, and--hanged if I know how to get out." He looked around, as bewildered as a lost child. She could not help laughing. "If you're as helpless as that I don't see how you ever get home at night," she said. He looked in every direction, but he did not see a car line. He turned to her. "I won't help you," she said, shaking her head. "Then we'll have to walk until we come to the Elevated," he determined. "All right," she nodded. "Only, if you don't go in the right direction you will walk all night before you come to the Elevated." "I can ask some one, can't I?" "I certainly would before I walked very far." "Then I'm going to ask you." He raised his hat. "I beg pardon, madame, but would you be so good--"