"Ah! Economy, I see. Good way to begin," says he. "And if it is not too personal a question, your present salary is----" "I'm getting twenty-five a week," says Skid, lookin' him straight between the eyes. "Then you have a private income, I presume?" says the Senator. "Well," says Mallory, "my aunt in Boston sends me fifty dollars every Christmas and advises me to invest my savings in Government bonds." At that the Senator drops into a chair and whistles. "But--but how do you expect," he goes on, "to--to----Pardon me, but I am getting interested. I should like to know what was your exact financial standing when you had the imp--er--when you married my daughter?" He gets it, down to the last nickel. Skid begins with what he had in the bank when they starts for Atlantic City, shows the hole that trip made in his funds, produces the receipts for furniture, and announces that, after punglin' up a month's rent, there's something over seven dollars left in the treasury. "Huh!" grunts the Senator. "Hence the lamb stew, eh? I don't wonder! So you and Sis have undertaken to live in a forty-dollar apartment on a twenty-five-dollar salary, have you?" "That's what it looks like, sir," says Mallory. "And who is the financial genius that is to manage this enterprise?" says he. "Why," says Skid, "Mrs. Mallory, I suppose. We have agreed that she should." "Sis, eh?" says the Senator, smilin' kind of grim. "Well, you have my best wishes for your success." Skid he flushes some behind the ears; but he only bows and says he's much obliged. You couldn't blame him for feelin' cut up, either; for it's all clear how the Senator has doped out an appeal for help within thirty days, and is willin' to wait for the call. I'm no shark on the cost of livin' myself; but even I could figure out a deficit. There's a call to dinner just then, though, and we all gathers round the stew. Anyway, it was meant for a lamb stew. The potatoes was some hard, the gravy was so thin you'd thought it had been put in from the tea kettle as an afterthought, and the dumplin's hadn't the puffin' out charm worked on 'em for a cent. But the sliced carrots was kind of tasty and went all right with the baker's bread if you left off the bargain butter. Sis she tried to laugh at it all; but her eyes got kind of dewy at the corners. "Never mind, dear," says Mother. "I'll telegraph for our old Martha to come on and cook for you." "Why, certainly," says the Senator. "She could sleep on the fire escape, you know." And say, that last comic jab of his, and the effect it had on Mr. and Mrs. Mallory, kind of got under my skin. I got to thinkin' hard and fast, and inside of five minutes I stumbles onto an idea. "Excuse me," says I to Skid; "but I guess I'll be on my way. I just thought of a date I ought to keep."