"Mr. Stafford didn't get more than fourteen when he was your age. He was poor, too."
"Yes," chimed in Fanny with a toss of her head, "and when they raised you from twelve at Christmas you thought you were doing great. I remember how chesty you were about it."
Jimmie grinned. In tones meant to be tender he replied:
"Only because I figured that I might be gettin' eighteen pretty soon and then we could get married." Eying her sheepishly, he went on: "Do we still have to wait till I get eighteen, Fanny?"
"We certainly do," she retorted promptly. "A couple simply can't live on less than eighteen."
The shipping clerk thrust his hands in his pockets and began to stride up and down the room. Peevishly he exclaimed:
"I know it. That's what makes me so sore when I read about millionaires like Stafford having luxurious private yachts, giving fifty thousand for a picture and things like that. They have so much money they don't know what to do with it, and yet all that stands between me and happiness is four dollars a week _and I can't get it_."
Virginia, who was sitting on the sofa, having become interested in a cabinet full of curios close by, looked up with a smile. Encouragingly she said:
"Don't worry, Jimmie, your chance will come just as Mr. Stafford's did."
"Fine chance I've got," he growled; "third assistant shipping clerk in a wholesale grocery. Why, the manager of the department only gets thirty and he's been with the house twenty-six years."
"That's a sweet outlook for me, I must say," cried Fanny in dismay. "If it takes a man twenty-six years to work up to thirty, I suppose you'll be getting eighteen eleven years from the third of next January."
Jimmie looked closely at both girls. He was not quite sure if they were making fun of him. Apparently satisfied that, on the contrary, they were in full sympathy with his troubles, he said:
"I'm doing my best and no fellow can do more! That's what makes me so sore, I tell you. Here I am slaving away for fourteen a week and he spends three hundred just for his rooms. I wonder how many rooms he gets for that?"
"I think it's twelve and four baths," said Fanny.
"Four baths!" he gasped. "What in God's name can a bachelor do with four baths?"