But it was also facts like these that called his attention to this matter of cost in other directions. Within the next two months, one item after another of his daily life became reduced to figures, until he lived in a world fairly bristling with price-tags. Collars were so much apiece, cravats so much apiece, waistcoats and shoes and hats so much. As he passed store windows the price-tags were the first thing he saw. It seemed that everything was labeled, even such articles of common household use as bed-linen, chairs and tables, carpets and draperies. When they were not, he entered and asked the prices. It became a passion with him to learn the cost of things. It was toward the middle of May that Frances first mentioned a possible trip abroad that summer. "Dolly Seagraves is going, and wishes me to go with her," she announced. "It will take a lot of money," he said. "What do you mean, Don?" One idle evening he had figured the cost of the wedding trip they had proposed. He estimated it at three years' salary. "Well, the tickets and hotel bills--" he began. "But, Don, dear," she protested mildly, "I don't expect you to pay my expenses." "I wish to Heavens I could, and go with you!" "We had planned on June, hadn't we?" she smiled. "On June," he nodded. She patted his arm. "Dear old Don! Well, I think a fall wedding would be nicer, anyway. And Dolly has an English cousin or something who may have us introduced at court. What do you think of that?" "I'd rather have you right here. I thought after the season here I might be able to see more of you." "Nonsense! You don't think we'd stay in town all summer? Don, dear, I think you're getting a little selfish." "Well, you'd be in town part of the summer." She shook her head. "We shall sail early, in order to have some gowns made. But if you could meet us there for a few weeks--you do have a vacation, don't you?" "Two weeks, I think." "Oh, dear, then you can't." "Holy smoke, do you know what a first-class passage costs?" "I don't want to know. Then you couldn't go, anyway, could you?" "Hardly." "Shall you miss me?" "Yes." "That will be nice, and I shall send you a card every day." "Good Heavens!" he exclaimed. "If your father would only go broke before then. If only he would!" Stuyvesant did not go broke, and Frances sailed on the first of June. Don went to the boat to see her off, and the band on the deck played tunes that brought lumps to his throat. Then the hoarse whistle boomed huskily, and from the Hoboken sheds he watched her until she faded into nothing but a speck of waving white handkerchief. In twenty minutes he was back again in the office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves--back again to sheets of little figures with dollar signs before them. These he read off to Speyer, who in turn pressed the proper keys on the adding-machine--an endless, tedious, irritating task. The figures ran to hundreds, to thousands, to tens of thousands.