as palmer looked at the stalwart black-bearded man facing him a terrible fear sent a tremor through his slender frame. suppose the fellow had come to inflict punishment upon him? suppose he had a cowhide somewhere concealed about his clothes? he felt ready to sink through the floor.

"i hope," he said tremulously, "you found my letter satisfactory. i—i didn't know alameda—i mean mrs. churchill—was married."

"oh, that's all right. so you supposed her single?"

"i assure you i do."

"well, at any rate she got even with you. she told me of the pitcher of water she threw on you out of the window. how did it feel?"

"very wet," responded palmer with a faint smile.

"good joke!" said churchill, laughing boisterously. "i wish i had been there."

[pg 111]

somehow palmer did not enjoy having the scene which had been so harrowing to him recalled. yet this man must be propitiated.

"i was there," he said with a feeble attempt at a joke.

"so you were, so you were. when alameda told me about it i nearly laughed myself to death."

palmer began to recover from his alarm. evidently the injured husband was not disposed to take things seriously, for he seemed in a good humor.

"i hope you don't object to my admiring your wife?" he said.

"no, it does credit to your taste, but i can't have you flirting with her."

"i assure you my intentions were and are strictly honorable."

"oh, alameda will take care of that. i'll tell you what i came about."

"as long as it isn't about a duel, i don't mind," thought palmer.

"my wife is to have a benefit next thursday evening. tickets are a dollar each. how many will you take?"

"i'll take one."

"better take two. you can scare up some young lady to take with you."

[pg 112]

"i don't know many young ladies."

"don't tell me that. you were not so very bashful with alameda."

"i—i believe i'll take two."

"all right! here they are."

"i'm afraid i haven't got two dollars with me," said palmer embarrassed. in fact, he lived so closely up to his income that he seldom had that amount about him.

peter churchill frowned a little.

"i can't leave the tickets without the money," he said.

"i'll lend you the money, mr. palmer," said robert.

"thank you," said the senior clerk gratefully.

"won't you take a couple of tickets, young fellow?" asked churchill.

"no, sir. i will use one of mr. palmer's tickets."

the tickets were paid for and transferred to palmer's vest-pocket. then alameda's husband left the office.

"i'm glad he's gone," said livingston palmer feebly. "i—i really thought he'd come in to horsewhip me."

"i guess he could do it," said robert, with a smile.

[pg 113]

"isn't he a terrible looking ruffian? to think the divine alameda should be married to such a man!"

"it's a pity she didn't meet you first. but i say, mr. palmer, you'd better give up paying attentions to her. it wouldn't be safe."

"i shall never dare to speak to her again."

"and you won't try to alienate her affections from him."

"no," answered palmer fervently. "i—i feel that i have had a narrow escape."

two weeks passed without any event of importance. robert had no difficulty in "getting the run" of the business in the office, and it is not too much to say that he became in that short time quite as efficient as livingston palmer, though the latter had been in the office for several years. robert was on the whole satisfied with his position, but it must be confessed that he was looking around for something better.

"i am sure mr. marden wouldn't want me to remain here if i could improve myself," he thought. "in fact, i think he would like me the better for striking out for myself."

"it's a terribly dull life—this in a stuffy office," said livingston palmer one day. since his upsetting with the variety singer the senior[pg 114] clerk had hardly known what to do with himself.

"that's true," answered robert. "but it's much better than doing nothing."

"that's true."

"when i struck out from home i was at first afraid i would be left stranded."

"humph! that wouldn't happen to me," said palmer loftily. "i am certain i could strike something at once, if i tried."

robert did not agree with his fellow clerk, since he had seen many a poor fellow on the streets begging for work of any kind. but he saw it would be useless to attempt to argue palmer out of his high opinion of himself.

on the day following there came a long letter for robert. it was postmarked timberville, michigan, and was from dick marden.

"my dear robert," wrote the miner, "i've been wanting to drop you a few lines for some time, but could not get around to do it. when i arrived here i found my uncle, felix amberton, very ill, and i have had to take practically entire charge of his affairs. my uncle is a bachelor like myself, so he hadn't even a wife to depend upon in this emergency.

[pg 115]

"my uncle owns a large lumber interest here, close to the upper end of the state, and several canadians are trying to force him into a sale of his lands at a low price. they claim to have some hold upon the land.

"i must say i wish you were up here with me—to help run the lumber office. i have to be out on the lands a greater part of the time, and the office clerk is not to be trusted, since he is a great friend of the canadians i mentioned. i am in hopes that my uncle will soon recover, to take charge for himself."

dick marden's letter interested robert greatly. the confinement of city life was beginning to tell on the boy, who had heretofore lived more or less in the open at home.

"i'd like to go to timberville," he said to palmer, when he showed the communication. "the smell of pine and spruce would do a fellow a world of good."

"it wouldn't suit me," said palmer, with a decided shake of his head. "why, you have no amusements in a place like that—no theaters, no concerts, no billiard parlors, nothing."

"and yet people get along very well without them," smiled robert.

[pg 116]

"they can't have very elevated tastes."

"perhaps more elevated than you think, livingston. i've known some lumbermen who were very well educated."

"if i made a change do you know what i would do?" asked palmer.

"no."

"i would go on the stage," said the senior clerk earnestly.

"what stage? perhaps the variety stage the adorable alameda is on, eh?"

"no! no! i am done with that forever. i would go in for tragedy."

"tragedy doesn't pay, so i've heard said."

"good, real talent will pay, i feel sure of it."

"and what would you play, hamlet?"

"i would play all of shakespeare's plays, but the part of sparticus the gladiator would suit me better."

"did you ever act?"

"twice—at the twice-a-week club. we gave julius c?sar, and i was c?sar. the performance was a great success from an artistic standpoint."

"how about it financially?"

"well, to tell the truth, we ran about thirty-three dollars behind."

[pg 117]

"which proves what i said, that tragedy doesn't pay," said robert, with a short laugh.

"my support was very poor, and, besides, our performance was not advertised widely enough."

"i presume the newspapers gave you some favorable notices."

"no, they did nothing of the sort. we had not given them much advertising and so they ignored us. you know they won't do a thing without being paid for it."

"i didn't know it. i thought they gave the news. why, sometimes they condemn a play even while they advertise it."

"never mind, they ought to have praised our play, but they didn't." and here palmer walked away and the subject was dropped.