Early in April C. Bailey, Jr., overdrew his account, was politely

notified of that oversight by the bank. He hunted about, casually, for

stray funds, but to his intense surprise discovered nothing

immediately available.

Which annoyed him, and he explained the situation to his father; who

demanded further and sordidly searching explanations concerning the

expenditure on his son's part of an income more than adequate for any

unmarried young man.

They undertook this interesting line of research together, but there

came a time in the proceedings when C. Bailey, Jr., betrayed violent

inclinations toward reticence, non-communication, and finally secrecy;

in fact he declined to proceed any further or to throw any more light

upon his reasons for not proceeding, which symptoms were

characteristic and perfectly familiar to his father.

"The trouble is," concluded Bailey, Sr., "you have been throwing away

your income on that Greensleeve girl! What is she--your private

property?"

"No."

The two men looked at each other, steadily enough. Bailey, Sr., said:

"If that's the case--why in the name of common sense do you spend so

much money on her?" Naive logic on the part of Bailey, Sr., Clive

replied: "I didn't suppose I was spending very much. I like her. I like her

better than any other girl. She is really wonderful, father. You won't

believe it if I say she is charming, well-bred, clever--"

"I believe that!"

--"And," continued Clive--"absolutely unselfish and non-mercenary."

"If she's all that, too, it certainly seems to pay her--materially

speaking."

"You don't understand," said his son patiently. "From the very

beginning of our friendship it has been very difficult for me to make

her accept anything--even when she was in actual need. Our friendship

is not on that basis. She doesn't care for me because of what I do

for her. It may surprise you to hear me--"

"My son, nothing surprises me any more, not even virtue and honesty.

This girl may be all you think her. Personally I never met any like

her, but I've read about them in sentimental fiction. No doubt there's

a basis for such popular heroines. There may have been such paragons.

There may be yet. Perhaps you've collided with one of these feminine

curiosities."

"I have."

"All right, Clive. Only, why linger longer in the side-show than the

price of admission warrants? The main tent awaits you. In more modern

metaphor; it's the same film every hour, every day, the same

orchestrion, the same environment. You've seen enough. There's nothing

more--if I clearly understand your immaculate intentions. Do I?"




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