The neighborhood did not improve with daylight acquaintance, and on his way back from the shop with a jug of cream and a paper bag in his hands he dwelt again upon his motor-car ride to the Palace Hotel and reviewed the eighteen-dollar meal they had eaten. He possessed sufficient sense of humor to grin as he clutched his parcels. "If Miss Wood were to see me now she'd experience a jolt." His smile did not last long. "Mrs. Joyce knows all about us," he admitted. "That's why she blew us to that feast. She was trying to compensate mother for her empty cupboard, which was very nice of her." Then his thought went deeper. He began to understand that it was to provide him with a larger allowance that his mother had been living alone and doing her own work. "Dear little mutter!" he said, and his heart softened toward her. "She's been walking the tight-rope, all right." She was up and at work in the tiny kitchen as he came in. "I forgot to get my supplies Saturday--and yesterday I was so upset--" "Never mind," he replied, gaily. "The 'royal gorge' we had last night makes breakfast supererogatory. I've attached some rolls and a bottle of cream, and if you've any coffee and sugar we're fixed." "I have sugar but no coffee. I drink--" "Not on your life!" he cut in. "No burnt wheat for me!" And he tore down the stairs like mad. At the shop he found himself possessed of just seventeen cents, with which he bought a half-pound of coffee. "Now I can begin my conquest of the world as all the great men have done--penniless. It's me for a stroll down-town, I reckon." The table was neatly set when he returned, and his mother, proud of her big and glowing boy, cheerily confronted him. "No matter how poor we are," she said, "we can be happy." And with her faith renewed she prepared the coffee for the cream. The sun struck into the bare little dining-room with golden charm, but these two souls, so alike yet so unlike, faced each other with returning constraint. As they talked their antagonism of purpose again developed. Victor outlined his plan of going West and starting anew. To this suggestion his mother listened, then gently replied: "There are many objections to that, Victor. First of all, I have no money." "Can't we sell something?" She shook her head, and he, after looking around, ruefully admitted that there was nothing to sell. "But your house--" This gave him a thought. "Why don't we go back to La Crescent? I'll work on a farm, in a grocery--anything rather than have you keep on with this business. It's dangerous, and it isn't nice." "Victor," she began, with more of self-assertion than she had hitherto voiced, "you don't understand. My mediumship is not a business, it is a sacred obligation. God has gifted me with the power of communicating with those who have passed to a higher plane, and I must respect that gift. I am in the hands of those wiser than either of us. To oppose them would be self-destruction."